


Bedsheets and Brandy

by Makarioi



Series: Rose Potter Malfoy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Background Relationships, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Character Development, Drama, F/F, F/M, Getting Back Together, Harry Potter Has a Sibling, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Remus Lupin Likes Chocolate, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter), Things are getting darker, character driven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makarioi/pseuds/Makarioi
Summary: Rose Potter Malfoy was ready to throw away her family, her wealth, and her prestige all for a chance at love, but Remus Lupin, it seemed, was not. Instead, he left her crying on the Hogwarts' grounds with no expectation of ever seeing him again. Rose must try to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart and do her best to carry on. As a fresh Hogwarts graduate she has a wedding, an apprenticeship, and the Quidditch World Cup to look forward to. Maybe one of these things can take her mind off the werewolf Professor who stole her heart. But when the two run into each other once more, will they get a second chance at happiness? Between Dumbledore's ominous warning that Lord Voldemort will rise again, the unwelcome intrusion of Severus Snape back into her life, and the disapproval of both her godfather and adoptive parents, the chances seem slim.This is a sequel to "RPM Part 1: Chocolate and Cigarettes". Please read Part 1 first as you will be very lost otherwise. Plus, it's a great story!
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Remus Lupin/Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Rose Potter Malfoy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020346
Comments: 108
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

_It has been so wet stones glaze in moss;_  
 _everything blooms coldly._  
 _I expect you. I thought one night it was you_  
 _at the base of the drive, you at the foot of the stairs,_  
 _you in a shiver of light, but each time_  
 _leaves in wind revealed themselves_ _…_  
 _I’ve planted vegetables along each garden wall_  
 _so even if spring continues to disappoint_  
 _we can say at least the lettuce loved the rain._

\- Lisa Olstein [Dear One Absent This Long While]

“If our mothers make me try another cake sample, I think I may throw up on our wedding day,” Stefan whispered in her ear conspiratorially as they walked through their third manor-viewing of the day. Rose grinned at him in agreement.

It felt as if Narcissa and Margot were trying to cram as much of the eight months’ worth of wedding planning into the week preceding it in order to make sure both she and Stefan now felt included in the process. This had mostly consisted of the pair of them nodding and thanking their mothers for their excellent choices on everything from flowers to colors to wedding favors to the venue to the food to the font style of the wedding program to the golden edging of ribbons to the music choices—and on and on it went. After the fourth day of nonstop chattering, Rose had given Stefan an expression that clearly communicated _‘I can’t take much more of this’_ and he had managed to get them out of a morning of more wedding related activities to tour various residences instead. Though her combination wedding shower bachelorette party was planned for that night, at least the morning would give her a moment to breathe.

The homes they were touring had also been picked out by Narcissa and Margot and had thus far consisted of ostentatious manors in a traditional style that oozed wealth and opulence. Stefan had suggested to their mothers that it might be a romantic outing for the pair to do on their own and had thus succeeded in acquiring them some merciful hours of peace and quiet. These moments were only occasionally interrupted by their realtor—a middle-aged witch in simple black robes and a paisley witch’s hat. But she, for the most part, let the pair alone to tour the various houses in peace.

“Thanks for making this happen,” she told him for the hundredth time that day, and he squeezed her hand.

“Thanks for giving me the excuse,” he said back as they walked back along the main hallway of another large manor. “It’s something we would have needed to do anyway, now’s as good a time as any.”

Rose looked up at the enormous chandelier that hung over the entry hall and frowned. The house was almost exactly like the one she’d grown up in, and she was not feeling particularly nostalgic at the moment. As well-meaning as Narcissa was about the wedding, between all of the preparations and being careful not to put another toe out of line, home currently felt stifling. Her father was still fuming over the “werewolf situation” which she’d been chewed out for the moment she’d arrived home. She’d listened to her father call Remus Lupin all of the worse things she could imagine and had endured it silently.

A week ago, she might have worked up the courage to yell back, but now that he had left, she felt numb about the whole thing. Why should she defend him to Lucius Malfoy when she had been ready to throw all of this away to be with him? She was still oscillating between anger and sadness over what he’d said to her, but the thing that upset her the most was the possibility that he was right about her. Rose was accustomed to the finer things in life, enjoyed respect and public admiration. Was the love she’d felt—still felt—for him so fragile that it would have died at their loss? She hoped not, but now she would never find out. The one good thing to come out of all the wedding preparations was that most days, Rose was too busy and exhausted to spend more emotional energy worrying about it.

“What do you think?” Stefan asked, drawing her out of her reverie.

“Oh, um… it’s… nice,” she said, glancing at the ornate molding that covered the walls. Stefan chuckled.

“Rose, we’re picking out our future home together, it’s okay if you don’t like it.”

“I hate it,” she said honestly. “It’s so… old fashioned.”

“Me too,” he smiled, obviously looking relieved about her answer.

“Really?”

“It makes me feel like I’m trapped in my parent’s house.”

“Exactly,” she agreed instantly.

“Let’s go to the next one, I think you’ll like it.”

To her surprise, they apparated to an apartment building in London—not far from where Sam’s parents lived. She was sure it was within walking distance of Damien’s clinic and Diagon Alley.

“Many of our younger couples are enjoying the convenience and excitement of city living these days,” the realtor said as they took the elevator up to the top floor. “Of course you won’t have the privacy you’d have in a country manor, or a fireplace which is usually a must have for my clients. We could always find you a cozy cottage for a country getaway if your budget allows though.”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat as the door was pushed open. The rooftop flat was probably twice as big as the one she’d been to with Sam, and the style was more industrial, with a black ceiling and exposed brick along the kitchen backsplash. But it had similar high ceilings with a pyramidal skylight and floor to ceiling windows along the main living area. She stepped onto the hardwood floors, her eyes traveling across the concrete countertops and modern fixtures appreciatively.

“There’s no way my mom picked this one out.”

“No, I picked out this one,” he confirmed. “I didn’t want to pressure you, but I’ve enjoyed living in town these past few years. There’s plenty of time later for a country manor if we get tired of it.”

“I love it,” she said, looking out at the incredible view of the London skyline. She could easily picture having her friends over and relaxing with drinks in the large living area. There was even enough room to be able to entertain a decent sized gathering—nothing like they could do at a manor, but more than enough for most occasions. As for large parties, they would have probably continued to have those at their parent’s homes anyways. They quickly walked through the rest of the apartment which had a beautiful master suite and guest room with a guest bath. Rose knew immediately that her parents would disapprove of the apartment because there wasn’t really enough space for raising children, and in a way that made her want to live there more.

“I’ve talked with Eugenia, and she thinks if we close on it now it will be ready for us the same day as the wedding,” Stefan informed her after having a brief conversation with the realtor. Rose felt a bit giddy and grinned at him, feeling genuinely happy for the first time since Remus had left.

“Let’s do it.”

“Did you have a good trip?” Narcissa asked when they returned. She and Margot Dolohov were sitting in the drawing room, various wedding related items strewn around them in a kind of controlled chaos. Margot’s ashy eyes flickered up to them with stern curiosity that Rose found unnerving. In the week she’d been around her, Rose was sure she hadn’t once seen her soon to be mother-in-law give a sincere smile. Today the woman was carrying a blood red fan that matched her claw-like nails. Unlike a smile, an ornate fan seemed to be a constant fixture for the icy woman.

“It was wonderful,” she told her mother sincerely, giving Stefan another grateful smile. It really had been the first enjoyable activity all week.

“Did you pick the manor in Dorset?” Margot’s cold voice piped up from behind the lacey edges of the fan. “We both agreed it was the best on the list, so grand and such beautiful scenery.”

“Ah, well,” Stefan said, entwining his fingers around Rose’s own. She realized by the tight grip and the way he drew slightly closer to her that he was nervous. “Actually mother, if you remember the penthouse apartment I mentioned in London, we decided to go with that.”

Margot’s eyes narrowed and became, if possible, even colder. “That atrociously cramped one? With no fireplace? Impossible. You’ll be surrounded day and night by all those… those _muggles_. No, the one in Dorset will be perfect.”

The sneer that distorted her face had turned her already off-putting expression quite hideous. Rose found herself annoyed by the response. She’d expected some concerned questions about the decision from her own mother but nothing like this—the blatant expectation of control and obedience. Even Narcissa was eyeing Margot with some trepidation. Stefan said nothing, and when Rose glanced at him, she saw he was looking at the ground with a blank expression.

“It’s quite fashionable these days to live in the city—especially for younger witches and wizards,” Rose parroted what the realtor had told them, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Stefan will inherit the Dolohov family manor one day anyways, it hardly makes sense to invest in our own now when a much grander one awaits.”

Margot snapped her fan closed so fast that it sounded like a slap. Her eyes observed Rose with a calculating precision, and Rose swallowed uncomfortably. Stefan was gripping her hand so tight now that it almost hurt, and she knew she’d made the wrong decision. Leaning forward in her seat, she smiled predatorially up at Rose.

“Any daughter-in-law of mine would do well not to count her inheritance before it comes,” Margot warned, and Rose’s face paled as she realized her statement may have sounded like they were waiting excitedly for Margot and Fabian’s deaths. “As for what is fashionable—passing trends will never outlast our most precious traditions.”

“Come now, Margot,” Narcissa interjected with a delicate laugh that disrupted the tense conversation. “You remember what it was like to be young. Let them have their fun now, they’ll grow tired of city life soon.”

Margot flipped open her fan once more, waving it at herself delicately, and turned a sickly-sweet expression upon Narcissa. “If you say so dear.”

“Can I bring you ladies anything to drink? Mother? Narcissa?” Stefan asked genially.

“I suppose it’s not too early for wine,” Narcissa answered and Margot nodded her approval.

“We’ll be right back then,” he said, not releasing his grip on Rose’s hand until they were both safely in the wine cellar. Then he turned to her with a very serious expression. “Rose, you need to be more careful around my mother.”

She was a bit taken aback by this. It wasn’t as though she’d been intentionally trying to anger Margot Dolohov.

“I’m sorry, did you want to live in the Dorset manor? I thought we both agreed we hated it,” she snapped at him irritably.

“Rose, please, I’m not angry with you. Believe me, I understand where you were coming from,” he said placatingly. “But now I need you to understand me. You don’t have any memories from the war—my childhood _was_ the war. My parents and uncle were some of the Dark Lord’s earliest supporters. I am only not a Death Eater because his downfall occurred before I graduated. I know exactly what my mother is capable of; I’ve seen it firsthand.”

Rose was taken aback by the haunted look in Stefan’s eyes; it made him look much younger and very tired. She wanted to ask what it was his mother had done that had left such an impression on him but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. She’d never really thought of how he’d lived his most formative years in the midst of the Dark Lord’s rise to power. Nor considered how terrifying that might be for a young gay man growing up in the home of Death Eaters whose expectations for the continuation of their lineage rested solely on his shoulders.

“You just… need to be careful around her,” Stefan continued, his gaze slipping from her eyes to the ground. “The best strategy to get your way is to wait for her to lose interest in what she wants or show how she’ll benefit from your decision. Otherwise you can wait until my father is around and try to charm him. She’ll listen to what he says, but he rarely contradicts her.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Rose said in a reassuring tone of voice. This was the second time in a matter of weeks that someone had mentioned the war and how she just didn’t understand what it had been like. When Sirius had said it, she’d been inclined to believe he was exaggerating for effect—especially as he had a personal grudge against her parents. But hearing it from Stefan, seeing how much it still filled him with dread, she realized that maybe they were right, and she just didn’t get it.

By the time guests started arriving for her wedding shower, Rose was grateful just to have more people between herself and Margot Dolohov as the woman continued sending her calculating glances over the top of her fan the whole afternoon. She felt so on edge and irritated by this treatment that Rose wanted to snatch the fan out of her hands and hit her across the face with it. When Mariko arrived, Rose dragged her friend into the seat next to her and gripped her hand tightly. Mari raised her eyebrows at this reaction but didn’t say anything and instead accepted the glass of wine that was offered to her.

Stefan was having his own party a few rooms away with Fabian, Lucius, Draco, and various important guests from the ministry. She imagined there would be a lot of cigar smoking and dart throwing and crude humor that sounded much more fun than sitting in here with the other women who had already begun to talk about babies and the complexities of running a household.

“We’ll have to do our own party with Sam and Ava, even if it’s afterwards,” Mariko whispered into her ear later in the night once dinner had been eaten and gifts had been given and most of the women were fairly drunk. “I know I’ll want one with you three when it comes time for my wedding.”

“Have you set the date yet?” Rose asked, realizing she’d been so focused on her own upcoming marriage and her feelings for Remus that she had barely asked Mariko anything about her plans all year. ‘ _Have I been a bad friend,_ ’ she wondered guiltily, taking another sip of wine. Mariko and Parker were actually in love after all, and Rose had mostly treated their engagement with aloof disinterest.

“New Year’s Eve—we’re going to have the ceremony be a mix of traditional and western styles and finish it off with a huge party,” Mariko said dreamily. “The ceremony will mostly be family, but I do want some friends. You’ll be my maid of honor too, yeah?”

“Of course I will, we’ve only been best friends since we were six years old,” Rose answered with a grin. Mari seemed quite relieved by this. She was sure there had been some doubt on the matter after their recent fight.

“How, uh… how are you doing?” Mari asked quietly, and Rose blinked rapidly, taking a large gulp of wine. She struggled to say anything—she didn’t realize Mari was so up to date on the knowledge of her relationship with Lupin. But then, Mari had known her for ages, and Rose had spent the last days of school moping around in bed like a kicked puppy.

Mariko watched Rose’s reaction with a keen expression. “That good, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Rose mumbled into the wine glass. “All of these distractions have helped though—I haven’t had to think about it much.”

“Rose, I… I don’t understand, not really. But I am sorry for how I reacted,” Mariko said, dark eyes staring at her shoes. Rose looked at her in surprise; Mariko Arai never apologized about anything.

“Sam and Ava got to you, didn’t they?” Rose asked, giving her a sly smile. Mariko laughed at this and nodded.

“Yeah. Sam about chewed my head off, and Ava gave me that disapproving look of hers.”

“I hate that look.”

“Me too,” Mari laughed.

“I’m really glad Quirrell made us do that stupid dueling preparedness project with Sam. Can you imagine the last two years without them?”

“I think one of us would have murdered the other by now,” Mariko grinned.

“Yeah, you’d definitely be dead.”

“Hey, how do you know it would be me?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious,” Rose said snootily, earning an elbow to the ribs from Mari.

“Bitch, I don’t think so,” she grumped back, and Rose laid her head on Mari’s shoulder affectionately. She didn’t think she could have gotten through this wedding shower without her friend at her side. Despite the busy state she was keeping herself in to avoid dealing with her feelings of loss, she really wasn’t doing well.

The worst part of the day was always laying alone in bed at night aching for his arms to hold her, to feel his body against her own. To hear the warm huskiness of his voice as he whispered into her ear. It was like a sick remix of the previous summer only without the luxury of laying in bed all day and being doted on by her mother. Some days, Rose felt like such an idiot. How had she put herself in this situation _again_? Hadn't she learned her lesson the first time with the disastrous result of her liaisons with Severus Snape? The cynical part of her kept questioning the sincerity of Remus’ feelings for her. After all, when she’d told him she loved him, he hadn’t said it back. Some days she was so sure she’d seen love in his eyes when he’d looked at her, when he’d kissed her goodbye. But she had believed for months that Snape had loved her too when he'd only been chasing after the illusion of Lily Evans. Because of this, she felt the deepest dread and a dark suspicion that she had been used once again.

“I’ll be right back, I need to use the toilet,” Rose said quickly, standing and moving across the room, smiling and nodding at the women she passed. One good part about having a group this large was that they were perfectly able to entertain themselves without her needing to dote on them all night. Rose used to love parties like this—showing off her expensive clothing, her beauty, her superior wit to other pureblood women who, though more pure than herself, were far beneath her in every other way.

Turning left rather than right when she exited the room, Rose wandered out onto one of the many balconies. This particular one overlooked the gardens and had always been her favorite. The waning moon hung like an oblong jewel in the sky, illuminating the ornate fountain and the white peacocks that wandered the grounds. Rose realized with a jolt that she hadn’t stood on this balcony in a very long time. The reason for this was that she’d been avoiding it for the better part of a year after things with Severus had fallen apart. This was the balcony where he’d first kissed her.

Rose knuckled away tears, not even sure now why she was crying. She hated being so damn weepy. It wasn’t in her nature. She preferred to be cheeky and sarcastic and loved to laugh, but her emotions felt so raw and close to the surface these days. Looking up at the stars, Rose began identifying various constellations she remembered from her astronomy days, and the analytical pursuit was pleasantly distracting. She heard footsteps behind her and expected it to be Mari or her mother come to look for her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this balcony was taken,” Stefan said awkwardly, pausing in the archway. He was holding a glass of brandy in one hand and a half-smoked cigar in the other.

“Needed to escape too?” she asked, looking at his flushed face. Giving her a small smile, he nodded, walking over to her and setting his glass down on the stone railing. Rose eyed the cigar he was smoking, and he offered it to her.

“Do you smoke?”

“Today, yes,” she answered, accepting it from him and taking a deep inhale. She immediately began coughing. Stefan chuckled and patted her back while she coughed.

“With a cigar you only inhale into your mouth. You’ll make yourself sick if you try to breathe it in.”

“Oh,” she managed to get out between coughs. Taking another experimental inhale, she found it a much more pleasant experience. After a couple more puffs she handed it back to him, and he set it on the railing beside his drink.

“Is Damien here? I didn’t see him come in,” Rose asked to break the silence. She’d yet to see him since her tour in February and was waiting for her N.E.W.T.s results to come in before starting at the lab.

“No, I didn’t invite him, it would have been too painful,” Stefan said, sipping his brandy and leaning against the railing. He looked tired.

“How long have the two of you been a couple…” she trailed off wondering if she was overstepping a boundary.

“It’s a bit of a messy story,” Stefan said ruefully. “It’s been an on and off thing since Hogwarts. He usually wises up and leaves me after a few months and then we won’t talk for years. This time we’ve been together for… almost a year, so we’re past due for a falling out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Rose said guiltily, she could tell it was a painful subject. Stefan shrugged at her, ashy green eyes following a peacock that wandered across the garden below them.

“It’s my own fault. He wants commitment, and I can’t risk taking our relationship public.” Before their conversation earlier that day, Rose would have assumed that he meant he couldn’t risk the public fallout for his own reputation. But after seeing his expression when he warned her about Margot, she wondered if he wasn’t more worried for what might happen to Damien.

“Besides,” Stefan said with a forced smile. “Damien typically has men and women falling all over him. Eventually he’ll find someone he’s better off with. For a little while there I thought he was going to wind up with his secretary, but she didn’t want kids and he does.”

“Don’t give up,” Rose said and then snapped her mouth shut, a light blush rising to her cheeks. “I—I just mean, if you really love each other you shouldn’t let that go.”

She felt a bit childish saying this as she realized that Stefan deciding to marry her was a very tangible sign that giving up was exactly what he had in mind. She was very embarrassed to find that she’d begun to tear up once again. To her relief, he didn’t chide her or look angry but gave her an understanding look while she got her emotions back in check.

“Who was he?” Stefan asked invitingly, and despite her better judgement, Rose found herself spilling the story of how she had fallen in love with Remus Lupin over the last year and how he had left her. She was surprised by what a good listener he was—he didn’t interrupt her or pull faces at the knowledge that Remus was both a werewolf and had been her Professor. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and let her lean against him while she spoke and cried. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket towards the end of her story he offered it to her, and she patted her face dry with it.

“I have to admit, after how the pair of you were acting over Christmas, I’m a bit surprised it wasn’t Professor Snape,” Stefan chuckled, and Rose’s face darkened in a deep blush. His eyebrows lifted in sudden comprehension. “Oh… into authority figures I see.”

Rose slapped him lightly on the chest and giggled. He was smiling at her, and it made his normally serious face look quite welcoming. It was almost a pity. Had Stefan been attracted to women, she could see that love might have developed between them—she quite enjoyed his company. His smile turned sad, and she was wondering if he was having a similar thought.

“Rose… if you don’t want to go through with this, we can call it off, I can take care of everything,” he said seriously. She shook her head instantly. She could not deal with another emotional rollercoaster at the moment—especially one that would throw her in the path of her family’s ire and disappointment. She could only imagine how much more stifling the manor would feel then. Besides, Remus had left. Her pride refused to let her go crawling back to Snape. And the thought of being alone with her broken heart terrified her. What reason did she have to refuse?


	2. Chapter 2

_How long do you want to go on being the person you think you are…  
…Let me know if you ever change your mind  
about leaving, leaving me behind  
or at least tell yourself  
before you find yourself on that train  
winding its way through the mountains…_

\- Ron Padgett [How Long]

In the end, Rose decided to make the most of her wedding. It was almost an enjoyable—if childish—way of saying ‘ _fuck you’_ to her own broken heart, to Remus, and even to Severus. She had never felt more beautiful than in her wedding dress and veil and adored the constant attention she received and the looks of the men, as well as some women, in the party who clearly appreciated her lowcut bodice. She was young, she was desirable, and today was for her. It also helped that the house elves had woken her with a morning mimosa, and she hadn’t stopped drinking since.

The ceremony was absolutely beautiful and was held in an outdoor orchard full of lush greenery and covered in twinkling lights and floating lanterns that illuminated the area with a warm glow as dusk fell. The ceremony was scheduled to begin just before sunset and the few clouds in the sky were backlit brilliantly by the setting sun. Just as Narcissa had said, the ceremony was a private affair with no more than fifty guests. Rose only wished that Sam and Ava could have been there for it but hadn’t made the mistake of putting her mother in the awkward position of saying no to her. Cornelius Fudge tipped his lime green bowler hat at her while she walked down the aisle, her arm wrapped around her father’s and she smiled beautifully at him.

She had never seen Severus Snape—who was in attendance out of obligation to Lucius—looking more sour, and he didn’t stay for the reception. Rather than his presence making her feel worse about the situation, it made her feel pleasantly vindictive. Maybe if he had truly loved her, he might have been standing up with her rather than watching her pass beyond his reach. His actions towards Remus at the end of term had incensed her to such a degree that any love she’d once felt for him made her burn in fury and embarrassment. Her feelings about it were so strong that she still hadn't reached out to him for occlumency lessons despite Dumbledore's warning.

Rose had never seen Stefan Dolohov look so handsome. His dress robes were a dark gold color stitched with abstract swirls in a lighter golden thread that shimmered when he moved. The lining and insides of them were a deep midnight black inlaid with tiny diamonds that twinkled like stars. The color made his normally ashen eyes look quite green and brought a warmth to his pale skin. She could tell he’d also been drinking by the flush to his cheeks and, despite their hands trembling while they clutched each other at the altar, he gave her a reassuring wink and grin that made her smile. When Draco came forward with the rings, and they slid them onto each other’s fingers, Rose could almost imagine that they were in love. And when it finally came time to kiss her, he made a great show of dipping her and allowing his lips to linger on hers to the applause and hoots of the audience. With the warmth of alcohol in her stomach and the flash of lights from the photographers, Rose grinned and kissed him back.

It was to her own surprise that it was not her first dance with Stefan that made her eyes tear up, but the one she shared with her father. Lucius took her into his arms as though she were the most delicate of creatures, and she laid her head on his chest, his chin resting atop her head. Rose remembered the year she had first come home. At first, he had been quite distant with her as though unsure how to react to the tiny redheaded thing they had brought into the manor. Then one day when he had overheard her crying in her room, he’d picked her up and held her close to his chest until she had nodded off to sleep. It had taken months for the night terrors to go away, but, each time they occurred, he would pick her up and take her to the lounge and sit her in his lap while he read her stories from _Beedle the Bard_ until she fell asleep in his lap. She had been so small then. But somehow, she had never outgrown his embrace. And as tears trickled down her cheeks from the memory, she felt a similar wetness drip onto her forehead from his own eyes, and the two held each other even tighter.

By the time the reception was over just after midnight, her world was spinning and not just from dancing. Gold and silver sparks shot from the wandtips of their guests, and the pair ran under them to a waiting limousine and clambered inside, waving goodbye to their guests. Rose and Stefan both collapsed into seats beside each other, exchanging drunken smiles. Their chauffeur pressed a button on the dash, and the limousine disappeared from view as it took off into the sky. With the moonroof down, and the cold wind rushing in at them, Rose felt giddy and energized.

The limousine pulled up alongside the window to their apartment and the door folded down rather than opening sideways, causing the glass to magically vanish when it touched the windowsill. Rose let out a breath of surprise when Stefan swept her up in his arms and carried her over the door-turned-ramp. She had a moment to look around at the twinkling lights of the London nightlife before they were in their bedroom, and he was setting her down. Rose stumbled a bit, and he steadied her.

“I’ll get ussssome water, shallll I,” he slurred with a smile, walking out of the room. Rose was too drunk to take in much of the furnished room but was alert enough to notice that the lighting was dimmed to low levels and rose petals had been scattered on the bed. A bottle of champagne was sitting on ice on one of the night stands along with two champagne flutes. Rose giggled, imagining that this too had been prepared for them by Narcissa and Margot. It would have been very romantic if she thought she was going to get any tonight—really a shame because the alcohol and adrenaline had made her quite horny.

“Here you go,” Stefan said, returning and offering her a glass. Rose chugged it quickly and walked over to the champagne bottle and began opening it. He raised a brow at her. “Oh?”

“It’sss our wedding night, might as well. Already gonna be hungofer,” she said with a shrug, and he grinned and acquiesced, accepting the flute she handed him. He began rifling through one of the dressers in search of more comfortable wear, and Rose could immediately tell something was wrong.

“Ahhh, your clothessseem not to have made it,” he said with a blush, looking at her apologetically. “That would be my mother’sss doing.”

“What a bitchh,” Rose said, sipping her drink unconcernedly. Stefan rolled his eyes at the response but didn’t disagree and pulled out a black t-shirt and gray plaid boxers.

“You can use thessse iff you don’t mind,” he offered. Rose set the champagne flute down and accepted the clothes, gathering up her substantial train and moving to the bathroom.

As soon as she reached back to unlace her dress, she knew she had a problem. Her fingers felt like they belonged to someone else and the complex lacing and loops quickly defeated her. Poking her head out of the door to ask Stefan if he could help, she blushed a deep red upon seeing that he had his back to her and was currently in a state of undress. Rose silently slipped back into the bathroom, and fanned her hot face with her hands, trying not to dwell on the sight of his naked body. When she guessed that he had finished, she cautiously peeked back out.

“Stefan,” she called shyly, and he turned and glanced at her, now fully clothed in comfy checkered pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. “I, uh, I think I need help to get out of thiss.”

“Oh, sshure,” he answered quickly, coming to her aid.

Rose pulled her hair out of the way, her stomach churning, and held the front of her dress up while he struggled with the corset. She tried not to shiver when his cool knuckles brushed her bare skin, feeling guilty by how aroused she was. At last the dress hung free, and he left her to change. Rose hung the dress on a padded hanger that was in the room and slid on his boxers and shirt. It was not as baggy on her as Remus’ had been since she and Stefan were much closer in size but was still plenty comfy. Rose pulled sparkling bobby pins out of her hair and ran her fingers through the curls. She made the executive choice not to bother washing her face tonight and deal with the consequences in the morning.

She was about to walk back out to the bedroom when what she’d thought was simply nervousness became discernable as outright nausea. Rose just made it to the toilet in time to begin vomiting into its porcelain depths. Occupied as she was with clutching the toilet seat for dear life while her stomach heaved, she didn’t notice Stefan return. Not until he was gently pulling her hair out of her face and holding it back for her, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“Glad we got you out of your dress first,” he said, and Rose would have snorted if she hadn’t been worried about bile going up her nose. After a few minutes, it seemed that her stomach had no more food or alcohol to give up—this of course didn’t prevent her from dry heaving for several more. She felt a damp cloth being pressed to her sweaty forehead and took the washcloth from Stefan with shaky fingers, first wiping tears from her eyes and then carefully cleaning off the corners of her mouth.

“Ugh, s—sorry,” she managed to breathe, moving to the sink to brush her teeth vigorously.

“I’ve done my fair share of that,” he assured her. “Will probably do it tonight if you’re intent on us drinking the ressst of that champagne.”

Rose waved a hand at him dismissively.

“Fuck the champagne.”

Laughing, the pair stumbled over to the bed, clutching at each other to walk straight. Rose fell back into it a little too hard, pulling Stefan with her. He landed with an ‘oof’ next to her and flower petals scattered everywhere. Reaching over, he moved a strand of hair out of her face and the two stared at each other for a long moment.

“I, uh, I suppose I’ll take the other room,” Stefan said struggling to sit up.

“Stay,” Rose said before she could stop herself. He glanced down at her in surprise while she blushed furiously. “If you don’t mind. I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

With a smile and a nod, he pulled back the covers for her to slide under and turned off the lights. Stefan quickly slid into the sheets beside her, and Rose laid her head on his chest while he wrapped his arms around her. For a moment, the ache in her chest subsided while she listened to the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat and nuzzled into his embrace.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Dolohov,” he whispered before the pair drifted off to sleep.

Rose cracked open bloodshot eyes to the sound of an irritating buzzing. She was laying on her stomach, her limbs splayed wildly across the bed. Sitting up, her world spun, and she groaned, holding her aching head in her hands. Glancing over, she saw that Stefan must have rolled over some time in the night and was quietly snoring into a pillow, still deep asleep. Pulling herself out of bed when the buzzing began again, Rose slipped out of the bedroom and made her way across the obnoxiously bright living area towards the front door. On her way, she saw that both her wand and Stefan’s lay on the kitchen countertop. Blinking hazily, she opened the door irritably.

“What the he—hello Damien,” Rose bit back her disgruntled greeting hastily, smiling awkwardly at the man. She and Stefan hadn’t discussed what she should expect regarding his relationship with Damien, but in hindsight, it wasn’t all that surprising that he’d turn up today. He was dressed not in robes, but in casual slacks, a soft pink shirt, and a long black cardigan, his blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and he was carrying a tote bag. He looked tired, and there were circles under his eyes.

“Hello Rose,” he said stiffly, his eyes taking in her appearance. Rose felt her face warming when she realized that she was still wearing Stefan’s shirt and boxers.

“Please come in,” she said quickly, stepping to the side and shutting the door behind him. Moving to the kitchen counter he set down the tote and pulled out a carton of eggs, bacon, a bottle of orange juice, coffee grounds, and a small bottle of pepper-up potion.

“I thought you two might be hungry,” he told her, looking around the room. “Nice place.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, sliding the bottle of pepper-up potion towards herself and taking a hefty gulp.

“Did you have a good night?” He asked, but the polite question was a bit cold.

“I puked,” she said dryly, and his lips quirked at this. Rose gave him an amused look that clearly communicated that she knew he wasn’t feeling bad for her. His grin widened, and he shrugged unapologetically.

“Interesting pajama choice,” he said, once again looking over his lover’s clothes on her body.

“Stefan thinks that my _dearest_ mother-in-law kept my own clothes from making it to our apartment,” Rose told him irritably.

“Ah, I see. I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard enough to believe that,” he said with markedly less tension in his voice and began looking through cabinets for glasses.

“Do his parents know… that he likes men, I mean? Otherwise I don’t understand why she’d do that.”

“It’s a bit… complicated. I’m not sure he’s ever told them outright, but they’d be fools not to suspect. His grandmother was the only one of his family who definitely knew,” Damien said with a sniff, pulling a cup out and filling it with orange juice.

“I didn’t realize he’d told anyone in his family,” Rose said with a surprised look, spinning the vine pattered ring on her right hand around her finger thoughtfully.

“Just her. A truly wonderful woman. She passed away last June—I’ve never seen him so upset. Not since Christina died,” he informed her reminiscently. Rose was shocked by this information. When Stefan had given her his grandmother’s ring last fall, he’d not mentioned how recently she’d passed away. She wanted to ask Damien more about Stefan’s grandmother, but his last sentence won out in her battle of questions.

“Christina?”

“His cousin. They were in the same year at Hogwarts and engaged since childhood. I didn’t know her very well, because she was sorted into Slytherin, and I’m not sure what happened—he doesn’t like to talk about it. She was only fifteen when she died, and I had graduated by then.”

“That’s awful,” Rose mumbled at the countertop. “Was his grandmother’s passing unexpected as well?”

“I think so,” Damien answered, his face coloring slightly. “We, ah, reconnected at the funeral. He and I hadn’t spoken for a few years before that.”

Recalling Stefan’s recounting of their spotty relationship history, Rose wisely didn’t pry further and began busying herself in the kitchen. She was a bit surprised he was being so forthright with her about his knowledge of Stefan. Rose imagined it was a combination of his trying to show off and show how much better he knew Stefan than her and also not having anyone to talk to about his on and off lover for over a decade. She picked up the coffee grounds and moved over to the coffee maker.

“How much should I brew?”

“I’ll take a cup if you’ll suffer my company a bit longer. Stefan doesn’t like coffee though.”

“Oh, I’m surprised you brought some then,” she said, pleased that he was now at least pretending to care how she felt about him being there.

“He said you like coffee in the mornings,” Damien shrugged, picking up the glass of juice and the pepper-up potion and walking towards the bedroom.

“Thank you,” she called after him when he disappeared into the bedroom.

‘ _Well, I guess this is just how things are going to be now_ ,’ she thought to herself, pouring the grounds into the magical coffee maker—one of the many appliances they’d received during the wedding shower. Almost instantly, two perfectly brewed cups of coffee materialized. Rose knew they’d both remain at the perfect temperature until they were picked up. She saw on the appliance that it was almost noon and realized that, based on the circles under his eyes, Damien had probably been up most of the night and had exercised more restraint than she probably would have in his situation.

When a soft moan wafted out of the back room, Rose realized it would probably be a little while before the pair would be joining her again. She flicked her wand at the eggs and bacon, using one of the new kitchen spells she’d learned in “ _The Witch’s Guide to Household Chores_ ” she’d been gifted. A couple pans came flying out of a cupboard and eggs began cracking themselves over one and bacon laying itself out onto another. Trying not to pay too much attention to the occasional noises from the back of the apartment, she took her coffee to the living room and sat in one of the armchairs there.

The apartment had been sparsely furnished for them, and though it had a long way to go before it felt like home, it was already quite cozy. She looked out the windows at the bustling London traffic and the muggles walking along the sidewalks and sipped her coffee while their breakfast cooked. She thought over what she’d learned about her husband over the past few minutes, trying to digest the information. It shouldn’t have surprised her that there was a depth and complexity to the man that she hadn’t anticipated. The past year in particular had shown Rose that one of her flaws was a tendency towards self-centeredness, so it wasn’t altogether surprising that she hadn’t considered the possibility before.

Stefan and Damien emerged a bit later looking pleasantly rumpled. Stefan had a content dreamy look in his eye she’d never seen on his face before. Lifting up a hand, he brushed a flower petal out of Damien’s hair.

“Breakfast, boys?” She asked them, and the pair nodded at her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Being deeply loved by someone_   
_gives you strength,_   
_while loving someone deeply_   
_gives you courage._

\- Lao Tzu

Despite the strangeness of their arrangement, Rose and Stefan quickly fell into a comfortable life together. She had—after much insistence and probably a little help from Damien—convinced Stefan to take the master bedroom while she took the guest. She didn’t have any immediate use for the larger bed after all. As both rooms were similarly extravagant, the room wasn’t much of a downgrade anyways. Rose had initially worried that their parents or Draco would notice the separate living arrangements, but after one visit to see the place, neither of their families had been in a hurry to come back—too many muggles. Living so close to Sam’s dad’s home also had its perks. Since Ava had moved in with them after graduating until she and Sam could save up enough money to afford a place of their own, she was a frequent dinner guest and tonight was no exception.

“'The vivacious redhead has broken more than a few hearts in her time at Hogwarts, our sources have informed us. But it seems that the debonair heiress’s wild heart was finally captured by Stefan Dolohov—a longtime bachelor whom our avid readers were despairing of ever tying the knot himself,'” Sam read aloud at the dinner table laughing heartily at Skeeter’s portrayal of Rose as a sensual heartbreaking ice queen.

Rose did her best to look dignified and speared another meatball with her fork. She didn’t really mind the way she’d been depicted by Skeeter—it made her feel powerful and sexy. And the picture that accompanied the article portraying their first kiss with Stefan romantically dipping her made them look truly in love.

“You mustn’t worry about the press dear,” Alex told her tapping long lime green nails against his water glass. “We have some atrocious people who write for muggle newspapers too, you should see what’s been written about me—that I’m married to a recluse and a fashion disaster. Not necessarily false, but rather rude of them to put into print.”

Ebo glanced over at Alex in good-natured exasperation from where he sat, spooning food into Kwesi’s mouth. This seemed to be a losing battle as Rose was sure there was at least as much food dribbling down Kwesi’s chin and onto his bib as Ebo had put in his mouth to begin with.

“I wonder who their sources were,” Sam continued teasingly. “If she’d asked me about you, her article would be all about an awkward nerd who’s oblivious to men.”

“That’s not very nice Sam,” Ava cautioned her girlfriend, glancing at Rose to make sure she hadn’t taken Sam’s remark personally. Rose gave her a reassuring smile to show that this was okay and that she didn’t mind the ribbing. After all, to their knowledge, she'd never actually dated anyone in her time at Hogwarts. She wasn't sure what she'd had with either Remus or Severus really counted as dating, but still.

“I’m not _completely_ oblivious to men,” Rose replied casually.

“Well, not anymore,” Sam grinned, and Rose’s face went quite pink at this statement. None of her friends knew that her marriage with Stefan was a sham.

“Samira,” Ebo chided as he managed to entice Kwesi into taking a bite of food. “I think I see why Rose has never come to visit us before now.”

“Don’t believe the innocent act she’s putting on Dad, she has a wicked tongue on her too,” Sam grumped, and Rose grinned at her friend.

“Rose wasn’t always completely oblivious to men,” Ava said into her wine glass and four pairs of eyes stared at her causing the woman to blush and fall silent.

“Well, _go_ on,” Sam encouraged curiously.

“It’s too late for silence now,” Alex agreed, leaning towards her interestedly—obviously as invested in the drama as his daughter was. Ava locked eyes with Rose who waved for her to continue.

“Well, didn’t Professor Snape catch you in a broom closet with a boy during our sixth year?” Ava said, flushing brightly.

“Wait—wait—wait, how did I not know about this!?” Sam exclaimed, looking between the two women in obvious outrage.

“You were in detention during that particular party,” Rose informed her.

“That sounds like our daughter,” Ebo mumbled with a sigh.

“Who was it?” Sam pressed, ignoring her dad.

“Liam Burke,” Rose admitted after a long moment, not at all surprised at the look of disgust Sam gave her.

“That slimeball? Disgusting. That’s not an _experience_ , that’s a punishment.”

“Oh, was he ugly, this boy?” Alex asked curiously. Ava, Sam, and Rose all exchanged glances knowing that Sam’s dislike of him had nothing to do with his looks and everything to do with his embodiment as the epitome of everything prejudiced and muggle-hating.

“Yes,” the three of them said simultaneously, not wanting to explain this to Alex.

“I was very drunk,” Rose elaborated. She had been drunk. But at the time, the seventh-year boy had seemed quite enticing to her—an heir to one of the sacred twenty-eight pureblood families in Britain. It had taken her too long to realize he was only interested in her for sex and would never pursue her seriously because of her half-blood status.

“Been there, done that, dear,” Alex said, waving a manicured hand in the air dismissively. Ebo glanced at him with raised eyebrows, and Alex gave him a smug smile and patted his hand. “Don’t act like you haven’t.”

Rose was sure Ebo was blushing, but it was well-hidden beneath his dark complexion.

“Whatever happened to him anyways,” Sam asked.

“I believe he’s abroad; he does a lot of work collecting items for his Uncle’s shop,” Rose shrugged. She hadn’t kept up with him since he graduated.

“More importantly, how did Snape react when he caught you two,” she grinned.

“He was not impressed,” Rose said simply. In truth, his drastic overreaction to the situation had been the moment she’d first begun to seriously consider that Snape was attracted to her and had started to pursue him. Grasping around for a change of subject, Rose asked the first thing that came to mind. “How are things at the ministry?”

“Busy,” Sam intoned tiredly. “With the Quidditch World Cup coming up in a month, I’m going to be doing a lot of overtime.”

“But you’re enjoying it?”

“So far. Bagman’s a laugh—much more fun to work for than some of the other department heads. Unfortunately, we’re working closely with the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Barty Crouch has zero sense of humor. He and Weasley should be announcing their engagement any time now.”

“Percy Weasley?” Rose asked curiously.

“Yep. I’ve seen more of him in the last month than I did in seven years at Hogwarts and, let me tell you, it’s not an improvement,” Sam grumbled. “I don’t know how you could stand being around him so much as Head Girl.”

“He’s not so bad,” Rose shrugged. She had mostly perfected the act of tuning Percy Weasley out whenever he began telling her about how the prefects needed better discipline or how too many students were shirking the dress code. She did, however, have a grudging respect for anyone capable of earning twelve N.E.W.T.s and admired his tenacity and ambition.

“Ava’s apprenticeship at St. Mungo’s has been much more exciting,” Sam prompted the quiet brunette, and Rose turned expectant eyes on her.

“It’s been fun. I’m helping tend the greenhouses and brewing basic potions for the healers—nothing too difficult,” Ava said with a smile.

“She’s underselling herself,” Sam said, squeezing Ava’s hand. “She told me that just the other day Damocles Belby complimented her on her Blood-Replenishing Potion.”

“ _The_ Damocles Belby,” Rose said with surprise. “The creator of the Wolfsbane potion?”

“He’s one of the potion’s masters there,” Ava answered.

“That’s awesome,” Rose told her sincerely, and Ava allowed herself a proud grin in response.

“How are things at Angevin’s labs?” Ava inquired politely.

“Right now I’m mostly working in the Just Like Magic clinic doing transfigurations for clients. It’s not hard, but I am getting a lot of practice with human transfiguration. Damien is also putting together some kind of bid for us to work on some special event this year—it’s very hush hush, he said he doesn’t want to get our hopes up. I guess they bid on doing the transfiguration work for the Quidditch World Cup too but lost out to a larger company.” Rose answered.

“When do you get to start working on lycanthropy research?” Ava asked curiously—she’d been the only one of their friend group to really read Rose’s article in _Transfiguration Today_. Sam had skimmed it to be nice, and Mariko was pretending it didn’t exist.

“Well first I have to put together a proposal for the stages of research, what resources I think I’ll need, and how I’m planning to allocate funding. That’s taking most of my time. But another apprentice who’s been with Damien for a few years now has mentioned an interest in partnering with me on it. Their background is alchemy and muggle science, so we should make a good team.” Rose had been afraid that, like teaching had been with Snape, her interest in lycanthropy would wane now that Lupin was gone. Fortunately, this wasn’t the case.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re interested in researching lycanthropy,” Ebo told her, flicking his wand at their empty dishes to begin clearing the table. “Even among healers there’s a lot of prejudice around werewolves. Mind you, monsters like Fenrir Greyback, and his followers aren’t helping. They’ve been getting more active again too. We’ve seen quite a few attacks recently at St. Mungo’s.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rose said automatically, a shiver running down her spine at the mention of Greyback.

“I don’t understand why wizards dislike werewolves so much,” Alex said, looking into space dreamily. “They’re so romantic.”

“What?” Rose asked in surprise at this reaction from the man. “Do muggles know about werewolves?”

“Not really,” Sam said, rolling her eyes at her dad. “I told you Baba, werewolves are nothing like the ones in your romance novels.”

“Still,” Alex pouted. “It’s just awful how they treated that Professor of yours just because he’s a werewolf. It’s not like he can help it.”

Rose stared fixedly at the table, feeling both Sam and Ava’s eyes on her.

“And the things they said about him in that article—not that I’m saying anything against your father, dear, I’m sure he’s just worried about his children.”

“There was an article?” Rose asked suddenly, looking up so fast she was afraid she’d given herself whiplash. Sam and Ava exchanged guilty glances, obviously they’d known about it and hadn’t said anything. Reluctantly, Sam flipped a few pages past the picture of her and Stefan kissing at the altar and offered her the paper. Rose snatched it out of her hand and began skimming the article titled: “ _Monster Loose at Hogwarts_ ”.

_“…Many parents are questioning what right Albus Dumbledore had to hire a man he knew to be a werewolf in the first place._

_“Lucius Malfoy, previous Governor and father of two children at the school, said, ‘This is exactly the kind of irresponsible behavior that caused me to resign my post as Governor at the end of last year. I just couldn’t stand by and watch Dumbledore continue his reckless debasing of an institution once so highly regarded across the globe.’_

_“Mr. Malfoy went on to say that he was scared for the safety of his son, Draco, who was attacked in the fall of last year by a wild hippogriff, and his daughter, Rose, who was asked to work closely with Professor Lupin during the schoolyear. ‘My own daughter was badly overworked this past year in her role as ‘teacher’s assistant’ to make up for his laziness and poor work ethic. She was completely distraught to discover the man she’d had to be in such close contact with was a werewolf. It is a miracle she was not attacked. This lack of judgement on the Headmaster’s part is not an exception to the rule but a continued pattern of arrogance and conceit.’_

_“In addition to Mr. Malfoy’s concerns around Albus Dumbledore, many witches and wizards believe that the incident at the beginning of June was the inevitable outcome of the kind of negligent and criminal behavior the wizarding world has come to expect from these types of creatures. It is no wonder that they have long fallen under the ‘beast’ rather than the ‘being’ division at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures._

_“Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Dolores Umbridge, has said that she will introduce stricter anti-werewolf legislation at the next meeting of the Wizengamot in order to keep such events from happening again. One of the many changes the legislation will introduce, should it pass, will require that the employment of any werewolves be made public by employers to their customers….”_

Rose felt nauseous as she set the paper down, unable to read any more of the article. She’d had no idea her father had spoken to the press about Remus. What had Remus thought of her when he’d read those words? Did he think she’d agreed with what her father had said? Surely not. Surely, he knew better.

“I, um, I have to go,” Rose said quickly. “I’m not feeling well.”

She fled the flat, deciding to take the stairs rather than the elevator in the hopes of burning off some of her anxiety. She wanted to write him a letter, wanted to tell him that she loved him and would never feel that way about him. ‘ _Maybe to be extra convincing you can attach the photo of yourself kissing Stefan,_ ’ she thought bitterly to herself as she walked out onto the street and began hurrying towards home. She brushed away tears that began to trickle down her face at this thought. No, it was best not to try to contact him. She would, on the other hand, be sending a letter of apology to Professor Dumbledore—for whatever that would mean.

Heading up the stairs to her own flat, Rose wondered briefly if she ought to write a letter to Harry as well. They hadn’t had any contact in the weeks since the summer holiday began, and based on his conversation with Sirius in June, it was possible he was being mistreated by the muggles he lived with. The cowardly part of herself shrank back at this idea. For two years Harry had been a thorn in her side at Hogwarts, a reminder that she was not entirely the person she claimed to be. She’d wanted nothing more than to be rid of him and now she finally had the chance. They needn’t have any more contact now. But was that still what she wanted?

Pushing open the door to the flat, Rose’s face lit up bright red at the sight of Stefan and Damien tangled together on the couch, locked in a passionate kiss.

“I am so sorry,” she exclaimed, shielding her eyes while they disentangled from each other and Damien pulled his hand out of the waistband of Stefan’s pants.

“We thought you were going to be out longer,” he muttered grumpily. Stefan, however, seemed to sense that something was wrong and after catching his breath, stood from the couch, walked over, and pulled her hand from her face.

“What is it, Rose? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, staring at the ground. Stefan put his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head up, looking at her seriously.

“You saw the article?” He asked. Rose nodded mutely. Of course Stefan had seen it too.

“That Rita Skeeter is awful,” Damien said from the couch. “You should see some of the things she’s written about me. Try not to take her seriously.”

Rose realized that Damien must have thought she was upset about the article Skeeter had written about the wedding. Stefan obviously hadn’t told him about Remus. She was grateful for this as her experience with couples—namely Ava and Sam—was that they told each other everything. It was nice to know that Stefan took seriously his role as her confidant just as she had taken her role as his.

“Can you give us a minute, love,” Stefan said over his shoulder to Damien. He shrugged, tried not to look irritated, and disappeared into the master bedroom. Leading Rose over to the kitchen island, he helped her sit on one of the barstools, and sat next to her, his hand never leaving her own.

“Stefan, will you oppose the legislation that Umbridge is going to propose to the Wizengamot,” Rose asked suddenly, her grip tightening on his own. He clearly hadn’t expected this and swallowed uncomfortably.

“Rose… Dolores Umbridge is not someone to make an enemy of lightly,” he said gently, and she looked down at her feet, tears springing to her eyes again. She’d thought that maybe she could do at least this much for Remus Lupin. “Even if I publicly opposed her, it’s well known that Fudge will be backing her proposal. She has a clear majority. I believe Madam Bones will be leading the dissent, and I usually vote with her, but it will probably pass regardless.”

“I understand,” Rose nodded tiredly, releasing his hand to wipe away more tears.

“But… I can promise to do my best to get it tied up with technicalities and committees for as long as possible,” he said with a small smile. “My background with Ancient Runes and Wizarding Law typically situates me with a great deal of authority during the review process.”

“You’d do that for me?” She asked, and he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“After what you’ve done for me, how could I not,” he smiled at her, and Rose felt a great surge of affection for the man. She wrapped him in a tight embrace, burying her head in his shoulder. Stefan patted her gently on the back before disentangling himself from her arms. “There are some letters that came for you by the way.”

Rose looked in surprise at the four envelopes that sat in the middle of the island—one was attached to a small package. Scooping them up she headed for her room, giving Stefan one more tired smile before she disappeared inside. Falling onto her bed, Rose opened the envelope attached to the package first.

‘ _Mum asked me to send you this wedding gift. –Congrats, Ron Weasley’_

Rose stared at the note in surprise. She’d never once spoken to Mrs. Weasley. Ron must have told her how she’d helped them in the spring. Or maybe it was because she had worked closely with Percy at Hogwarts. Slowly, she opened the package to find a small glass heart about the size of her palm with what looked like golden sand inside. Rose had never actually seen a Love-Glass before but had heard of them. The sand inside was supposed to swirl faster and even glow depending on the intensity of love being felt in a room at the time. She was surprised by the thoughtful gift and set it down on her nightstand. She smiled when the sand inside began to swirl in a lazy circle.

Leaning back against her pillow, Rose opened the next envelope, and read over it quickly.

_‘Dear Rose, Thank you for all the help you gave us this year. I wanted to offer my congratulations on your marriage. I’ve read about Stefan Dolohov, and he seems like a good man. I hope you both find happiness together. —Love, Hermione’_

Rose set the letter down on her stomach, touched that Hermione had sent such a heartfelt congratulations. Moving onto the next one, she continued reading.

_‘Rose, congratulations on the wedding. You looked really nice. – Sincerely, Harry. p.s. I’m sorry your dad said those things about Lupin.’_

Even though the note was short, Rose felt a smile spread across her face at the awkward congratulations of a thirteen-year-old boy. She wasn’t sure Draco could have done much better had he been expected to express his congratulations through the letter; he'd barely done as well in person. Not only that, but Harry had known, even without her saying so, that she’d had nothing to do with the article on Remus Lupin.

Finally, Rose opened the most battered of the four letters, her heart jumping into her throat while she read it.

_‘Dearest Rose, I’m sorry that our time together was so short, but I am glad I was able to meet the woman you have become. I saw the picture of your wedding in the Daily Prophet, and you looked just like your mother on her wedding day. I wish she and James could have been there to see how beautiful you were. I wish I could have been there too. Even though we’ve been separated once more, know that I am still your family, and that I will always be there for you. All my love, Sirius.’_

Rose clutched the four letters to her chest and closed her eyes, basking in the softly light of the Love-Glass that glowed beside her.


	4. Chapter 4

_I haven't seen you in a month.  
And nothing.  
I'm a bit paler, a bit sleepier, a bit more silent.  
But as you can see—one can live with no air._

\- Maria Pawlikowska-Jasnorzewska

“We’re going to need to figure out how to get werewolves to participate in our research,” Gina told Rose as the two looked over the proposal.

“I think Damocles Belby gave his volunteers a small stipend when he was testing the Wolfsbane potion,” Rose answered, and Gina frowned.

“We do have some funds, but I don’t know that it would be enough for that,” she scratched at her nose ring absent-mindedly before pushing her thick-rimmed lilac glasses farther up her nose.

“I wonder if we could find out who his donors were and see if they’d be interested in offering further funding,” Rose mused.

“Worth a try. Researchers can be pretty protective of donors though,” Gina said. “We also need to think about participant protections.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we need to guarantee anonymity for one,” Gina told her. “And we may need to take samples at a secondary location like St. Mungo’s or at a different time of day. The Clinic is so high profile, and we do work with the ministry from time to time, werewolves might be hesitant to come here.”

“Do you think Mungo’s would partner with us?”

“Hmm, they’ve been willing to in the past, I can reach out to them if you want to work on donors.”

“Sure,” Rose agreed instantly.

“We’re definitely going to want to ask Vic for help with sample analysis. What kinds of samples are you hoping to take by the way? We’ll need to specify.”

“Well, blood samples, obviously, but also enamel scrapings and nail clippings since lycanthropy spreads through a bite and their claws seem to have some detrimental effects to victims as well. Ideally, we would do this for them both as humans and during the full moon,” Rose mused, and Gina raised her dark eyebrows in surprise.

“You want to take _enamel_ scrapings from _werewolves_ during the _full moon_?” She carefully emphasized her sentence, her almond eyes observing Rose calculatingly.

“Well yes… maybe not right away, but I think it will be necessary eventually,” Rose answered, waiting to see if the woman would throw up her hands and walk away at this piece of news. Gina only nodded slowly.

“Let’s see what our research looks like in an untransformed state first. It will also give us time to build trust with possible participants.” Rose nodded at Gina’s suggestion. She’d been doing research with Damien for four years now and had a better understanding of how to go about these things than Rose did.

“Thanks for helping me with this, I know you’re busy with Damien researching metamorphmagi.”

“No problem, we’re a bit stalled on that area of inquiry anyways. If the ministry would let us bring in a muggle geneticist, we might get somewhere but they keep denying our request—statute of secrecy and all,” Gina blew a strand of short black hair out of her face irritably.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and a witch or wizard will get born to one like with Vic,” Rose suggested without much hope in her voice. Gina laughed.

“I won’t hold my breath,” she said with a wry smile. Glancing around the empty lab, Gina stretched and sighed. “I think it’s time for us to head out. Everyone else has left. Didn’t you say you had plans?”

“Yeah, my friends and I are hanging out tonight.”

“Well, off you go then,” Gina encouraged.

Rose didn’t need telling twice. She hung her crimson lab robe in her locker and hurried out through the clinic entrance. Sam was already waiting for her outside, pushing a grumpy looking Kwesi back and forth in a stroller. Rose looked down at the small wizard in surprise but couldn’t stop the grin that crossed her face when he began making excited noises upon seeing her.

“He was being absolutely atrocious, so dad asked me if I’d take him with us on our walk. He usually falls asleep in his stroller,” Sam explained with only the barest trace of irritation in her voice.

“Cool, what all do you want to get,” Rose asked as they walked towards the nearby Leaky Cauldron.

“Snacks, dessert, alcohol,” Sam answered with a shrug. “You said Stefan wasn’t gonna be around tonight, so we don’t need to get enough for him, right?”

“Yeah, he’s out of town for work this weekend,” Rose agreed, managing to keep a straight face. Stefan had taken the opportunity of her wanting to do a girl’s night to spend a weekend with Damien.

“I’m so excited for tonight, I am going to get _drunk._ We’ve been so overworked at the Ministry with this stupid World Cup,” Sam grouched, tapping her wand against the brick wall so the two could access the Alley.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you describe anything related to Quidditch as stupid,” Rose said with a wry smile.

“I know. I really am excited for it; I just can’t wait for an end to all the preparations and a start to the actual match.”

“Yeah, this would be a hard time to start at any department in the Ministry let alone the Department of Magical Games and Sports. You are liking it though?”

“So much. I really have to introduce you to Ludo Bagman, you’ll love him, he’s great fun and very nice. He said he might be able to get us into the pre-game mixer, if I get to bring a guest do you want to come?”

“Of course I do! But wouldn’t you want to bring Ava?”

“She’s already given me the go-ahead to ask you, you know she barely tolerates Quidditch.”

“Well, if it happens, count me in,” Rose grinned.

Sam was correct, and Kwesi did fall asleep while they shopped. The back of the stroller also made a fantastic place to set their groceries. The pair loaded up on chocolate frogs, magical floating popcorn, fizzing whizzbees, self-dipping chips, and various confectionaries and snacks. It wasn’t until their last stop at the liquor store that the boy woke up again and began crying.

“Kwesi, come on,” Sam said tiredly, picking the boy up from the stroller and trying to distract him from his post-nap tantrum.

“I can watch him if you want to go in and grab us something to drink,” Rose offered, sensing her friend needed a break from her little brother. Sam gave her a grateful look and shoved the crying child into her arms, hurrying into the store before she could change her mind.

“Hey, none of that now,” Rose told Kwesi with a smile, bouncing him on her hip. She wiped the tears from his eyes and tickled his round belly, eliciting a giggle from the small boy. She ran a hand through his light chocolate curls, brushing them away from his large brown eyes. Rose felt warm all over as she held him in her arms. Maybe her mother was right and children were what she needed to focus her attention—she thought Stefan would probably like that too. But somehow, the idea of having children in their current situation terrified her. It felt too late to second guess her choices now, but did she want to have kids with someone she didn’t really love just because they were married?

“Rose?”

She turned her attention from the giggling child on her hip to the speaker. The bright smile she’d been giving Kwesi died somewhat when she saw just who it was that had said her name. She could feel her heartbeat quicken traitorously when their eyes locked. It was her first time seeing him since he had left.

“Hello Remus,” she said softly, looking him over just as he was doing to her.

“You look like you’re doing well,” he said.

“You too,” she replied quickly, and he chuckled knowingly at the lie. It must have been just after the full moon because he was quite pale and had dark circles under his eyes. His robes were looking shabbier than ever, and he had a listless air to him she’d never experienced before. The scars that had been fresh on his face when she’d last seen him had healed to soft pink lines that stood out gruesomely against the long-healed ones.

“I look like shit,” he said, and she grinned.

“A bit,” she agreed cheekily, and they laughed together. Her stomach squirmed at how much she’d missed talking to the man and listening to the sound of his laughter.

“I suppose I should congratulate you; I saw in the _Prophet_ —”

“Thanks,” she said quickly, hiking Kwesi higher up her hip with one hand. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, she gestured around Diagon Alley with the other one. “What brings you here?”

“Job applications,” he said.

“How is that going?”

“Not very well,” he said honestly and the two trailed off into an awkward silence. Rose recalled the horrid article the _Prophet_ had done on him and Dumbledore. She imagined that it was even more difficult to find work now that he had been publicly outed as a werewolf.

“Ouch!” Rose winced when Kwesi grabbed a lock of her hair and gave an unexpectedly hard tug. He giggled unabashedly at her reaction while she carefully pried her hair free of his little fingers. “Knock it off you little imp.”

“And who is this?” Remus asked, stepping closer and smiling at the small boy. Kwesi gazed curiously at the man and giggled when he made a silly face at him, drool bubbles accumulating at the sides of Kwesi’s mouth.

“This is Kwesi, he’s Sam’s little brother. She’s inside picking up some firewhiskey.”

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Asare,” Remus said politely, extending a finger to the little wizard.

Kwesi reached out and grabbed for it, wrapping his fingers around Remus’ own. Remus gently moved his finger up and down in a simulacrum of shaking hands and smiled goofily at the child. Rose felt a lump rise in her throat. It was almost too much to be standing so close to him with a child on her hip. Too easy to imagine what it might be like if this were their own child and they were just out walking together rather than having a chance meeting. He seemed to be having a similar train of thought as he glanced at her with warm sad eyes. The smile slowly slid from his face and he straightened up, disentangling his finger from Kwesi's grip. Stepping back, he cleared his throat awkwardly, his eyes sliding over her once more as if he were trying to etch the image of her into his mind.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” he said, not quite meeting her eye as he started walking away. Rose felt panic at his sudden departure and turned quickly to watch him go.

“Remus!”

“Yes?” He paused and glanced back at her curiously.

“Would you, uh, would you want to get a drink sometime? You know… as friends. It would be nice to catch up,” Rose felt her heart pounding erratically in her chest while she waited for his response. He ran a hand uneasily through his graying hair, looking at the ground. He seemed to be having some kind of internal war with himself. Finally, he looked up at her and gave her a small smile that set butterflies loose in her stomach.

“I’d like that.”

Rose looked down at Kwesi, letting her hair fall into her face to obscure the warm blush and wide smile that refused to be suppressed.

“How do you feel about doing breakfast… tomorrow,” she said, tucking one of Kwesi’s curls behind his ear. She risked a glance at Remus who was looking flustered again, his eyes looking at the pair of them with… was it _longing?_ The expression was quickly hidden when he scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. Rose wondered if he’d hoped to get out of the outing by agreeing to it and fleeing before they could make plans. She was not going to be ditched so easily.

“Tomorrow works,” he said at last giving her a look that clearly communicated that breakfast was a lot more than the drink he’d just agreed to. Rose only smiled innocently return.

“Meet here at eleven? Sam introduced me to a place I think you’ll really like.” She said breathlessly, and he smiled at her sincerity despite himself.

“Eleven o’clock,” he agreed dipping his head at her. “Until then.”

“Until then,” she agreed, unwilling—or unable—to say the word goodbye. She watched his shaggy head and patched cloak until he disappeared around the corner, her heart refusing to calm its relentless pounding against her chest. For a moment, it had felt as though not a day had passed between the end of term and the warm July evening. Rose wasn’t sure whether to jump joyously or pound her head against the wall in frustration. Did she do the right thing asking him to join her for breakfast or was she just tearing open a wound that had barely begun to heal?

“Was that who I think it was,” Sam asked, walking out of the door, clutching two large bags in her arms. Rose nodded mutely, strapping Kwesi back into his stroller. “What did you two talk about?”

“We’re going to get breakfast tomorrow,” Rose said quietly as they turned back towards muggle London.

“Is that… wise?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Thanks, _Ava_ ,” Rose teased.

“She’s infectious,” Sam shrugged with a grin. “But I am worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I don’t either,” Rose assured her friend. “Things just feel so… unfinished between us.”

“Sometimes the best closure is no closure,” Sam advised sagely. Rose gave her a sidelong glance.

“You’d be one to know,” she said with mild sarcasm.

“Baba says it,” Sam told her.

“I’m sure he’s right. Still… I don’t think I can just walk away from him”

“Just be careful.”

The rest of their night was significantly more lighthearted. Despite the cloud of anxiety hanging around her at the thought of the next day, Rose did her best to enjoy her night with her three friends. Sam had bought a bottle of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Whiskey which led to an enjoyable—if occasionally disgusting—drinking game. Rose had a couple lucky shots of cotton candy and peach cobbler, one very strange shot that tasted like a full steak and mashed potato dinner, and one particularly disgusting shot that tasted like what she could only describe as dryer lint.

After a few hours of drunken revelry, Mari, Sam, and Ava began to doze on summoned mattresses. Rose, however, stayed awake long into the night, remembering the feel of Remus’ hands on her body and waiting with bated breath for what the next day would bring. Had it been a mistake? She didn’t know the answer to that question, but as of that moment, it was a mistake she wanted to make. Rose wasn’t sure how she would react to sitting and talking with him. Would she be angry, would she be sad, would she be ecstatic? All of those emotions swirled around inside of her. Which would win out, she couldn’t say.

Rose wasn’t the only person who was struggling to sleep that night. Remus was also tossing and turning in bed, berating himself for even bringing himself to her attention. He should have turned around and fled as soon as he’d seen her. Instead, he’d been drawn irresistibly closer to her, completely entranced by the sight of Rose with a child on her hip. He had hoped that some distance might make him more aware of her flaws and imperfections. She had many of those. Rose was often selfish and insensitive, rude and self-important. Yet none of these characteristics had come into sharper focus over their weeks apart. Instead, they were balanced by her rare moments of empathy, the gentleness of her touch, her quick wit, the sound of her laughter, and her eagerness to learn about what she did not understand.

Remus laid awake in his bed and wondered how he would ever manage to get through having a meal with her tomorrow. It had been hard enough to walk away from her once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are back! Happy new year, hope everyone had a great holiday. Please leave your comments, kudos, and don't forget to bookmark so you don't miss an update! I'll be honest, I don't think I'm going to manage to write another 100,000 word story in just over a month like I did with part one, so this one will probably be more spread out as far as updates go. I am so excited to get into part two and continue their romance!  
> Thanks to Megs for the perfect quote suggestion for this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

_I love you neither with my heart, nor with my mind._   
_My heart might stop, my mind can forget._   
_I love you with my soul, because my soul never stops or forgets._

\- Rumi

Remus turned this way and that in front of his bathroom mirror, trying to make sure he’d successfully shaved all of his facial hair. Though the shave made him look less shabby, it made the scars on his cheeks more visible. Running a finger across his most recent ones, Remus sighed at his reflection. Brushing his graying hair out of his face, he felt old and insecure. He pushed moodily at the dark circles beneath his eyes. Though they were fading a bit now that the full moon had passed, his sleep the previous night had been poor and had done little to hurry their departure from his face.

Turning away from the mirror to dress, Remus’ confidence was not emboldened upon rifling through his wardrobe. Everything seemed too old, worn, and threadbare. He finally settled on a casual pair of slacks and a faded button down. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows to hide the fraying cuffs and ran his fingers across the slightly wrinkled fabric. Glancing up at the clock he saw that it was nearly ten thirty. Sliding on his shoes, he thought that he might as well go early and wait for her instead of lounging about the house and bemoaning his ragged appearance.

If he didn’t leave soon, he felt that he might chicken out and not go at all, but that wouldn’t be fair to Rose. Though he had immediately regretted accepting her invitation to catch up upon agreeing to the outing, he _had_ agreed to it and needed to keep his word. Just seeing her for a few minutes had twisted the knife that had been stuck in his heart since the first week of June. Her tear-stained face and profession of love had haunted him all this time. How much would spending time with her, talking to her, listening to the sound of her laughter, seeing the dimples appearing on her cheeks increase the pain he’d been dealing with since he’d left her? And what would he do if she told him she loved him again? He didn’t think his heart could take it. But, as he’d experienced during the school year, Rose’s presence was almost drug-like in its addictiveness to him.

‘ _Just one quick meal. One meal, and I’ll go_ ,’ he thought to himself before turning on the spot and disapparating.

Walking through the Leaky Cauldron, Remus was frustrated to find that the change in scenery only served to increase his anxiety rather than quell it. Part of him was terrified that Rose was going to turn up in her best dress robes and take him to an expensive local where he would feel and look incredibly out of place. With both of their pictures so recently in the _Prophet_ , he was sure they would attract attention. He couldn’t help feeling that this was a disaster waiting to happen.

All thoughts of anxiety and regret were driven from his mind when he rounded the corner of the alley and saw Rose leaning against a lamppost, nervously twisting a strand of red hair around her finger. Far from wearing her best dress robes, she was wearing a pair of faded jean shorts that showed off her long legs and a black Weird Sister’s band tee that fell casually off one shoulder. His eyes lingered on the expanse of skin revealed there, lost for a moment in memories of planting kisses on the curve of her neck and remembering the taste of her skin. Sunlight streamed down onto the red hair she’d tied back into a high pony and each curl seemed made of liquid fire. Glancing up when he approached, she smiled brilliantly at him—a smile that made his heart accelerate traitorously in his ribcage and drew a similar grin from his own lips when moments before he had felt as though he’d never smile again.

“Good morning Remus,” Rose greeted, her fingers scrunching and unscrunching the hem of her t-shirt nervously. He was frustrated to find that he still loved the way his name sounded coming from her lips. His mind unhelpfully supplied memories of other times when his name escaped her lips far breathier and needier.

“Hello Rose,” he responded, smiling despite himself at her warm expression while simultaneously berating himself for where his mind had gone. “I thought you might be a little more haggard this morning given Sam’s recent firewhiskey purchase.”

“The miracles of pepper-up potion,” she explained with a shrug, and her eyes ran over him, taking in his appearance. Remus immediately felt self-conscious, running a hand through his hair. He felt like apologizing for his attire but was stopped by the light blush that rose to her cheeks.

“You look nice,” she said, glancing at one of the shop windows to avoid meeting his eyes. It was the same look she used to get on her face when he’d catch her staring at him while she was supposed to be marking papers. Heat pooled in his stomach at the unexpected realization that for some incomprehensible reason, she sincerely found him attractive. It was a fact that would never cease to amaze him.

“So do you,” he answered, and her warm hazel eyes flickered to his. He cleared his throat and glanced around the alley. “Breakfast, then?”

“Yes, um, it’s a short walk if you don’t mind,” Rose said hurriedly, and Remus began to follow along beside her as she walked. The pair kept a careful distance from each other, and he had to work hard to keep from staring at her. Remus could count on both hands the number of times he’d seen her out of her school uniform and walking around with her outside of the Hogwarts grounds felt almost unnatural.

To his surprise, she led him out of Diagon Alley and into muggle London. The pair walked in awkward silence, and there were a few times where he thought she was about to say something, but no words came out. For his part, Remus was at a loss as to what to say to her. The one thing that kept jumping to his mind was the urge to apologize for hurting her, but it seemed inappropriate to bring up now. If he was going to apologize for anything it made much more sense to apologize for allowing their relationship to progress as far as it had—he’d been her Professor for Merlin’s sake. He’d been wallowing in guilt over the whole thing for the past month, and maybe that guilt was what was keeping him from asking for her forgiveness. Did he even deserve to be forgiven?

The café they arrived at was tucked in an out of the way side street and was comfortable and cute. A young man with a lip piercing took them to a booth and laid out menus for them. Remus couldn’t help glaring at him for the way he was eyeing Rose so blatantly. Didn’t he have any self-respect? Didn’t he see the ring on her finger? His stomach gave an unpleasant jolt when he realized that the ring was conspicuously absent from her hand today. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that development—it both excited and unnerved him.

“Can I bring you something to drink,” the man asked, flicking dark hair out of his eyes and leaning casually with one hand on the edge of the table. Remus clenched his hands into fists irritably. Even if she didn’t have a ring they were there together, he didn’t need to be so obvious about his interest. Lupin realized with embarrassment that the server probably thought he was an older relative—perhaps even her father. He sank lower in the booth and stared at the menu, his lips pressing together tightly.

“I’ll have a coffee, what about you Remus,” Rose asked. Their eyes met over the top of the menu and she smiled at him again. He felt something in his chest tighten at being the recipient of her full attention and he felt some tension leave his shoulders and jaw.

“Make that two,” he told the server, enjoying the disgruntled look the boy was giving Rose at her audacity to not even look at him for the entire interaction. Remus couldn’t help an adolescent smugness that spread through his chest.

Remus went back to reading over the menu, and his eyes were drawn to their brunch special—chocolate chip pancakes. He swallowed thickly, trying to decide whether it was a coincidence or whether she’d remembered when he’d told her they were his favorite breakfast food. Setting down the menu he silently watched her while her eyes continued to skim her own. They flickered up to meet his and the moment reminded him strongly of the many stolen glances they’d exchanged over the tops of essays at Hogwarts. This time, however, she let her eyes linger on his own rather than immediately flick away in embarrassment. When she finally let them drop back to the menu, he swallowed hard, realizing his mouth had gone quite dry.

“Have you gotten your N.E.W.T.s results back yet,” he asked suddenly just as the server set down their coffees. The man looked at him oddly before heading off to another table.

“Oh, yes, all outstandings,” Rose grinned proudly, and he smiled back at her.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

The pair lapsed back into silence, and Remus focused on his coffee, looking around for the sugar bowl only to find that Rose was already sliding it over to him. Their fingers brushed when he took it from her, and her fingers were uncharacteristically warm from holding her own cup of coffee. When he glanced up at her, he found she was staring down at her own coffee in silence. He carefully spooned sugar into the bitter drink, topping it off with a splash of milk. Rose was already sipping her black coffee by the time he was done, and he wondered at her ability to drink the hot beverage without scalding herself.

“What can I get the two of you to eat,” their server asked upon his return. Remus ordered the chocolate chip pancakes while Rose ordered a spicy omelet. The grin on her face when he placed his order confirmed that she’d certainly remembered that they were his favorite. The thought of her coming here with Sam and thinking of him filled him with such a strong sensation of remorse that he couldn’t help the words that began to spill out of his lips.

“Rose, I’m so sorry for the way I treated you this year. I should have never allowed things to go as far as they did. I was irresponsible and unprofessional. I was your professor and you trusted me, and I took advantage of your feelings. I know I hurt you, but it was better that things ended the way they did. If we’d kept going, I would have made you miserable,” he babbled, unable to stop himself. Rose was observing him silently over the brim of her coffee cup looking as though this sudden tirade was quite expected. Taking a sip of her drink, she carefully set the cup back in its saucer. Only the tight press of her lips betrayed that she was not quite as calm as she appeared.

“Did you get that out of your system,” she asked dryly, managing to keep most of the irritation out of her voice. Remus felt immediately defensive about having his apology dismissed so easily. He’d expected tears or outright anger. Somehow this resigned tolerance—as if she were doing him a favor by humoring him—was worse than either.

“Rose, I’m perfectly serious—”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your need to make everything about you by now,” she said, and this time the bitterness was perfectly evident in her voice. Remus gaped at her. Rose was not one of the more selfless people he’d met in his life, and he found it a bit rich that she was accusing him of being self-absorbed.

“I’m not making this about me,” he objected furiously while she took another sip of coffee.

“Look,” she said harshly, setting her cup back onto the table hard enough to make large waves ripple dangerously across the surface of the beverage. “I’m sorry that you have this self-sacrificial complex that makes you think that everything that happened between us was somehow your fault. I don’t feel embarrassed about what happened, I don’t regret a single kiss or moment together. And I’m sorry you’re hoping to relieve some feelings of guilt by asking my forgiveness. I’m not going to belittle myself by offering it. I wanted to be with you—I still want to be with you—and you wouldn’t even let us try before you decided things couldn’t possibly work.”

Remus was kept from saying more by the arrival of their food. The server awkwardly set the dishes in front of them, obviously picking up on the shift in mood at their table. He watched Rose viciously stab her omelet and decided that now wasn’t the moment to continue pressing the point. He could see the two small patches of red that appeared on the tops of her cheekbones when she was angry. So instead of speaking he doused his pancakes in syrup and cut them into manageable pieces—perhaps a bit more aggressively than he needed. The fact that they were absolutely delicious when he took a bite was somehow irritating.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he said quietly between bites of food. It was the wrong thing to say. Rose sneered at him.

“Well, good thing that didn’t happen,” she said sarcastically and went back to ignoring him. Remus felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

The pair spent the rest of their meal in silence. Rose was fuming and Remus’ mind was whirling, thinking over her accusations. He thought her assertion that he had a ‘self-sacrificial complex’ unfair. Rose had long made clear her disapproval of his tendency to wallow in guilt and self-deprecation, but she had never seen how he was treated by other wizards outside of Hogwarts. She didn’t know the pain of being an outcast—of being reviled by those who didn’t even know you. No, for most of her life she’d been respected and given everything she’d ever wanted. Who was she to so easily dismiss the pain and guilt he’d been feeling over the past month as nothing more than self-centered grandstanding? And yes he had hurt her, and he felt terrible about it but wasn’t a broken heart better than a life of poverty and derision?

By the time their meal was over, they still hadn’t spoken, but Rose had begun to look more tired and less angry.

“I live just around the corner,” Rose said when they emerged from the restaurant. “Will you… walk me home?”

Remus looked at her in surprise at the request and saw the way she was staring at the ground and chewing on her lower lip. It was the face she made when she was feeling guilty about something but too proud to apologize. It was the same look she’d made when she’d returned to his office after a week of avoiding him upon finding out he was a werewolf. With a sigh, he nodded, and to his surprise Rose wrapped her arm around his, leaning her head against his shoulder while they walked. He knew he should step away. He knew he should probably leave now. But the warm feeling that spread through his body at her familiar touch was something he couldn’t so easily defend against. He had forgotten just how safe and loved he felt in her arms. The knife in his heart twisted deeper.

Fortunately for him—or so he told himself—the walk was a short one. She paused when they arrived outside of an expensive looking apartment building. Remus’ stomach squirmed at the sight and he wondered if Stefan Dolohov was waiting for her and if he would notice that she was not wearing his ring on her finger. The guilt he was still harboring dampened the jealous anger he felt at the thought of the man who by now must have become just as intimately familiar with Rose’s body as he had been. Remus shook his head slightly to clear it of those unhelpful thoughts. He had been the one to push her back into Dolohov’s arms after all. What right did he have to be jealous?

“Well, this is me. We’re at the top,” Rose said, gesturing towards the building. She looked hesitant and slightly nauseous as she slid her arm out of his. Her self-righteous anger from earlier seemed to have been tempered by the obvious desire for him to stay. And Remus could see the melancholy adoration in her hazel eyes when she looked at him, and he felt suddenly as though he couldn’t breathe.

“This was nice, we should do it again,” she said desperately. Remus couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips at this statement. The outing had been disastrous and they both knew it. She gave him a shrug and a smirk in return, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt once more. “Well, it could have been worse.”

“How,” he asked curiously with a small smile.

“The food could have been bad,” she answered simply. Remus chuckled again.

“That’s true,” he acquiesced.

Rose took a deep breath as though working herself up for something. She looked up at him from beneath long eyelashes, her fidgeting stilling for a moment, and Remus suddenly knew what she was going to ask. Panic swept over him.

“Do you want to—”

“I should go,” he said before she could complete her invitation to come upstairs. He was sure that if he did, the two would quickly become involved in activities he would later regret.

“Oh,” she said simply, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Rose… I can’t….” he said, not sure how to explain all of the conflicting emotions going on in his mind. She shrugged as though his refusal hadn’t bothered her but didn’t quite meet his eyes with her own when she turned away.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said as she hurried into the apartment, and Remus ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before turning on his heel and looking for an empty alley where he could apparate. The whole morning had been a complete disaster just as he’d known it would be. He should never have agreed to the outing to begin with but at least it was over. Now he could return to his empty house and go back to trying to forget about her. He let the bitterness crowd out the other feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him—especially the ones of longing and desire at the thought of how they might have had a much more pleasurable ending to their outing if he’d only followed her upstairs.

Rose slammed the door of her room closed and fell back on her bed in frustration. Clothes were still strewn across the floor from when she’d anxiously torn through most of her wardrobe that morning while deciding what to wear for their outing. She wished she could go back to the excitement she’d felt that morning at the idea of seeing him again. Now all she felt was irritation—both at Remus and at herself.

‘ _Why did I say that to him_ ,’ she thought, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. With a groan she rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. She knew why she’d said it. Remus’ tendency to mire himself in feelings of guilt and responsibility for things outside of his control was possibly the thing she disliked the most about him. It was that same characteristic that had informed his decision to refuse to let them try to be together. It was as if he was intent on sabotaging any chance he had for happiness. What angered her the most was that he had decided for her how she was going to feel had their relationship become a public scandal. She’d ultimately had no say in the matter. And the idea that he’d broken things off for her own good was patronizing enough, but then for him to start acting like she’d had no say in the entire relationship when she’d been actively pursuing him—Rose hadn’t been able to contain her anger any longer.

She didn’t think that what she’d said was wrong, though part of Rose recognized that Remus was just attempting to keep her safe. But why couldn’t he see that she hadn’t wanted safety; she’d wanted him. Why was it so hard for him to believe that he made her feel happy and loved and that—to her own surprise—those feelings had become more important to her than something as trivial as other people’s approval? Was she really as untrustworthy and selfish as his fears implied? Would she really have run once she got a taste of what a relationship with a werewolf was like? Now it was unlikely either of them would ever find out. She was married for one. And for another, she’d spent most of their attempt at catching up making him angry with her when she could have been trying to win him back. Rose turned her head to the side and stared at the Love-Glass in which not a single grain of sand stirred. A feeling of deep loneliness swept over her, and Rose closed her eyes, hoping sleep would overtake her.

Before she could fall asleep, she heard the door to the apartment open. Slowly dragging herself out of bed, she poked her head out of the door and saw Stefan walking through the kitchen with his overnight bag—he looked tired but content. He glanced up when she approached and smiled.

“How was your weekend,” he asked and to her complete embarrassment she started to cry. Rose quickly hid her face in her hands, willing the tears to stop. She heard the bag he was holding drop to the ground, and suddenly his arms were around her, and he was gently stroking her hair. Rose buried her face in the crook of his neck and let the tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comment, bookmark! Every time you do, baby Kwesi smiles. Thanks to bigsmallelephant for the quote suggestion. If you have any, feel free to drop them in the comments!


	6. Chapter 6

_My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand  
Taking mine, but it’s been promised to another  
Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland  
My house of stone, your ivy grows  
And now I’m covered in you_

\- Taylor Swift [Ivy]

“We have exciting news for you all,” Damien told the half dozen apprentices. Everyone in the lab was gathered around him and Celia. The blonde woman was looking just as excited as he was about the news. Every time Rose saw the pair together, she tried to picture them as a couple but just couldn’t. She was so used to seeing Damien with Stefan that picturing him with anyone else, especially a woman, was difficult. She could certainly see the appeal there—Celia was beautiful and intelligent. It had only taken a few days of working at the clinic for her to learn that Celia was not in fact a secretary as Rose had initially assumed but was actually Damien’s business partner and had started the Just Like Magic clinic with him.

“As you all know, we put in a bid last month with the Ministry of Magic for our company to manage the transfiguration work for an upcoming event,” Celia continued, exchanging a grin with Damien. “And we’re excited to say that we’ve won the bid!”

There was a smattering of applause from the apprentices at this, though the excitement was subdued at still not knowing what the event was.

“What we’re about to tell you is top secret until the Ministry sees fit to announce it,” Damien said. “I don’t need to impress upon you all how important our reputation for discretion is.”

His blue eyes managed to capture them all in a single stern glance before the seriousness faded and he grinned.

“Do you want to do the honors Celia?”

“This year, we will be working alongside the Ministry and Hogwarts staff to help reinstate the Triwizard Tournament,” she exclaimed excitedly. A ripple of interest moved through the group of apprentices at this news. Rose and Gina exchanged a surprised look.

“I know that you are all working on your own research,” Damien interjected. “But for those willing to help with this project, we will be providing free seats at all the events and a generous bonus for hours worked. Most of the transfiguration will be simple, just on a large scale. We’ll be responsible for setting up and taking down stands, helping to create terrain, and more.”

Most of the apprentices were thoroughly excited by the time Celia and Damien had finished their announcement and answered various questions. Gina caught up to Rose as she headed back to the front offices—she was scheduled to work in the clinic that day.

“St. Mungo’s has agreed to partner with us on our Lycanthropy research,” Gina informed her.

“That’s fantastic,” Rose said excitedly.

“And we’ve set up the anonymous donor option you asked for,” she added. “St. Mungo’s has set up a system where any donation to our project can be made to appear as if it is just a donation to the Hospital in general. Then they’ll allocate funding to us through their own budget.”

“That’s going to be extremely helpful in finding donors,” Rose said. This was the method Damocles Belby had suggested they try when Rose had reached out to him via owl to see if he would be willing to share a list of his donors with them.

“Have you had any luck on that front yet?”

“I’m actually talking with a potential donor tonight.”

“Oh,” Gina asked, adjusting her lilac spectacles to gaze curiously at Rose.

“Yes, I’m fairly confident we’ll be receiving a substantial donation soon.” She smiled thinly.

Later that night, Rose sat across an intricately carved oak desk from Lucius Malfoy. He was glancing over her grant proposal stoically, his left hand swirling a whiskey on the rocks he had poured for himself moments before. Rose sat straight-backed in her chair, her expression impassive. She hadn’t worn dress robes but had picked out a set of emerald green ones that were nicer than she’d normally wear to visit her family at the manor. Lucius’ gray-blue eyes flickered up to hers after a long moment, and his lips were pressed together to form a thin line across his normally handsome face.

“You can’t be serious Roselin,” he drawled, sipping his drink. Rose did not flinch. She had been prepared for this reaction.

“I am perfectly serious father,” she said genially, refusing to drop his gaze.

“Why would I help fund research into a subject which both your mother and I have made clear is far beneath your attention,” he said bitingly. Rose’s mind briefly flashed back to the row she’d had with her parents when they’d found out just what she was studying at Damien’s lab a couple weeks into her apprenticeship.

“Father, this is the research I was hired to do. It’s a bit late for me to back out now.”

“But why even work at all, you don’t need the money,” he said in frustration.

“Sitting at home doing nothing all day would drive me crazy. Besides, Stefan helped me get this job. It would be a slight against my husband to quit. He likes that I have something to occupy my time,” she reiterated the most persuasive argument from their previous fight which had been successful in getting them to back off. Lucius Malfoy drummed his fingers against his desk in irritable silence.

“Our family has never shied away from a bit of nepotism,” Rose said after allowing the silence to stretch for a few long moments. Lucius gave her an annoyed look, but she could see the underlying amusement in the quirk of his lips.

“Rose, I would be happy to fund almost any other venture of yours but this one,” he said seriously.

“Father, when Damocles Belby began researching the Wolfsbane potion, he was met with plenty of resistance by those who thought research into lycanthropy was an unworthy subject. But as soon as he proved successful, he received fame, fortune, and even an Order of Merlin,” Rose replied.

“And you propose to be just as successful?” There was some sarcasm in Lucius’ voice, but Rose raised her chin and looked straight into his eyes.

“Why not? I am a Malfoy after all.” This time Lucius did smile at his daughter. Sensing weakness, she leaned forward and allowed her gaze to soften. “I am going to research lycanthropy. You can’t talk me out of it. I did what you wanted by marrying the man you picked out for me. Now I’m asking you to do something for me in return. The sooner my research receives proper funding, and I start having results, the sooner you and mother can begin feeling proud of me and my work rather than ashamed of it.”

Lucius digested this speech in silence, his keen eyes looking his daughter over while he took another sip of whiskey. Her hazel eyes refused to look away, and he was struck by how very similar they were. Both ruthless in the pursuit of their goals, both overly ambitious, both intuitively able to craft their words to persuade someone. Despite his own concerns surrounding her initial adoption, Rose truly had become a daughter to him, and it was always followed with a hint of surprise whenever he was reminded exactly how proud of her he was and how invested he was in her success. His eyes followed her hand when she reached into her robes and drew out one final piece of paper and slid it across his desk towards him. He carefully picked it up and let his eyes skim the contents.

“Any donation will be completely anonymous,” he asked, summarizing the contents of the paper.

“Correct. Until, and _if_ , a donor chooses to make their donation public,” Rose confirmed. “Until that time, it will just appear that you made a donation to St. Mungo’s itself. All the reward—none of the risks.”

Lucius could once again feel the unexpected pride for Rose bubbling in his stomach. She had walked him through this conversation perfectly. Had she simply presented all of the information at once, he would have quickly rejected it. Instead she’d allowed him to become invested in the discussion, to air his concerns and grievances one at a time. And then she’d used her most convincing argument at the last moment when he was most persuadable. Like father like daughter, it seemed. Leaning over, he pulled a checkbook out of his desk drawer and dipped his quill in emerald ink.

Rose grinned.

With the first donation made, convincing others to offer money to fund her research was substantially easier. With the list of donors that Belby had generously offered them, Rose spent the last weeks of July and well into August fundraising. Most were not able to offer anywhere near the amount that her father had, but every little bit helped. Augusta Longbottom—a rather eccentric old witch whom Rose had never met prior to having tea and discussing the research had come closest to matching it. The woman had no interest in retaining anonymity and her only real reservation about giving the donation was Rose herself—having been raised as a Malfoy and now married to a Dolohov. By the end of tea, however, Augusta had written out a large check, her stuffed vulture teetering precariously on her head as she did so.

It was nearly the end of August when Rose found herself standing on the front step of 4 Privet Drive while she waited for someone to answer the door. Living in a muggle style apartment, she had now become quite familiar with a doorbell and had easily found the one installed on this house beside the brass doorhandle. Rose stared at the large agapanthus blooms that lined the immaculate garden while she waited, trying not to think about what a bad idea this was. When the door finally did open, it was wrenched with such force by the large, purple-faced man who opened it that Rose was surprise he hadn’t yanked it off its hinges.

The two eyed one another warily before the man reached out and pulled her into the house, quickly shutting the door behind her. Rose stumbled a bit at the unexpected manhandling and smoothed out the sundress and cardigan she was wearing. She heard a sharp intake of breath from her right and turned her head to see a tall horse-faced woman who had a hand pressed to her mouth. The woman’s eyes were looking Rose over from head to foot, and Rose imagined that her Aunt was shocked by the resemblance she bore to her long dead sister.

“Rose,” Harry’s voice made her look around once more, and she saw that he was standing part way up the stairs, carefully out of reach of his Uncle. The look on his face clearly expressed that he hadn’t been sure she was really going to come. Rose was a bit perturbed to see that the clothes he was wearing were so oversized on him as to be comical with his shirt reaching almost to his knees and the baggy jeans belted around his waist rolled up several times.

“Hi Harry,” she greeted. “Ready to go?”

“Uh, not quite yet,” he said with an embarrassed look and disappeared back upstairs. Rose resisted rolling her eyes just barely.

“You have a lovely house,” Rose said to her Aunt and Uncle just for something to break the awkward silence. As she could only see their foyer, this wasn’t much of a compliment. Vernon’s face purpled even more at this comment.

“At least you had the decency to dress properly,” he said, looking over her muggle clothing. Rose raised her eyebrows at him. Harry had warned her in his letter that they might act like this, but she was still taken aback at his rudeness.

“I’ll be changing into normal clothes after we leave,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and eyeing him coldly. This movement allowed her to push back her cardigan enough that the wand stuffed into the belt around her waist was clearly visible. Vernon’s face went chalky white and his mouth snapped shut. A little squeal of fear came from Petunia who clutched the doorframe into the kitchen with trembling fingers. Rose finally succumbed to the eye roll she’d been holding back. She was saved from further interaction with the pair by the loud sound of Harry dragging his trunk down the stairs and the gentle hooting of his snowy owl.

“Ready?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

“Just one moment,” Rose said, drawing her wand and pointing it at Harry.

“Wha—what are you doing,” she was interrupted by Vernon’s terrified bellow. He pointed a sausage sized finger at her shakily. “I will not stand for that unnaturalness under my roof!”

“And what, exactly, are you going to do about it,” Rose asked sardonically, twirling her wand in her fingers and narrowing her eyes at the man threateningly. He opened and closed his mouth at her like a fish out of water before storming past them into the kitchen, dragging Petunia with him.

“What charming relatives we have,” she said, and Harry grinned at her. Pointing her wand back at him, she carefully transfigured his clothes, shrinking them down to a more appropriate fit. They still had an old hand-me-down look about them, but at least now he didn’t look absolutely ridiculous.

“Thanks,” Harry said, glancing down at the much more comfortable clothing.

“No problem,” she said with a shrug. “Have you ever apparated before?”

Harry shook his head, and Rose grinned.

“Keep hold of your trunk and owl,” she instructed, grabbing ahold of his upper arm and turning on the spot. The pair missed the screams that emanated from the Dursleys at the loud pop that accompanied their disappearance.

“That was awful,” Harry said shakily, rubbing his ears and forehead with his hands and blinking rapidly.

“You get used to it.”

“I think I’ll stick to a broom,” he said, and Rose chuckled. They had apparated just outside of the penthouse apartment—like most wizard dwellings, Rose and Stefan had placed protections on their residence so that one could not apparate directly into it. She held the door open for Harry to enter with his trunk and owl.

“You’re welcome to let out, uh… what is his name?”

“Her name’s Hedwig.”

“Right, Hedwig. She can join Morgan over there,” Rose gestured towards the far end of the room where Stefan’s barred owl was preening himself on his perch. After Harry opened her cage and Hedwig had fluttered across the room to join Morgan, Rose turned to the other two people standing in the kitchen.

“Harry, this is my husband, Stefan, and… our friend, Damien,” Rose introduced. “Stefan, Damien, this is Harry… my brother.”

It was the first time she’d actually called Stefan her husband and the moniker felt strange as it fell off of her tongue. It felt no less strange, however, to introduce Harry as her brother. The boy glanced at her when she said it, and she imagined he’d felt similarly. Rose had warned Damien and Stefan that she’d be bringing Harry today so the two were on their best behavior.

“Are you hungry, Harry,” Stefan asked kindly, gesturing towards one of the barstools at the kitchen island. It was lunch time and the pair had obviously just finished eating. Harry nodded and sat down, his eyes roving about the room curiously. Rose sat near him and gratefully accepted the plate that was offered to her as well. She couldn’t help staring as Harry shoveled the food they gave him down his throat like a starving person. She, Stefan, ad Damien exchanged concerned glances. Stefan graciously portioned out a second large helping onto his plate when he finished the first in mere moments. Harry flushed when he realized that the three were staring at him.

“Dudley—my cousin—is on a diet,” he said by way of explanation. Rose glanced over the already too thin boy with a critical air.

“Why would his diet affect you?”

“Well, we’re all following it technically. But Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid all sent me food earlier in the summer, so I’ve been living off of that,” he said hurriedly, tucking into his second helping.

“You should have written me, we could have sent you something too,” Rose said lamely. She knew why he hadn’t written. The pair had rarely interacted before this year. There was no reason for him to have thought of her as an ally. Harry was tactful enough not to say this, and the pair quietly finished their lunch.

Rose felt fidgety and awkward. When Mrs. Weasley had written and asked her if she’d be willing to pick up Harry from their Aunt and Uncle’s and drop him off at the Weasley’s for the World Cup, she had been very reluctant to acquiesce to the request. She hadn’t really thought that the Dursleys would be more comfortable letting Harry go with her rather than one of them just because she was his sister. But she had felt obligated to say yes after the wedding gift Mrs. Weasley had sent and somehow a simple transportation task had turned into her taking Harry to Diagon Alley to pick up his school things beforehand. Rose suspected that Mrs. Weasley knew about their strained relationship and was trying to get them to spend some time together.

“If you have your book list, we can head over to Diagon Alley, it’s only a short walk from here,” Rose said when it seemed like Harry couldn’t fit any more food into his stomach.

“Thanks for lunch,” Harry said politely to Stefan before following Rose out of the door.

When they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Rose transfigured her midnight blue cardigan back into her usual long witch’s robes that opened casually in the front so that her crisp white sundress was still visible. Though she enjoyed muggle clothing, wearing robes always felt right to her.

“I can’t wait to do magic outside of school,” Harry said longingly while she tapped the bricks to let them into the Alley.

“It is the best,” she agreed easily. “Where to first?”

“Well, I need some potion’s supplies, so let’s stop by the Apothecary. Then we can head over to Flourish and Blotts… and it says I need dress robes this year,” he answered quickly. Rose knew that the dress robes must relate to the Triwizard Tournament that would be taking place but gave no hint of this to Harry.

Rose was able to help him find the needed supplies easily enough, and the pair were soon on their way over to the bookstore. She saw Harry’s eyes flick longingly to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Shop, and she made a mental note to stop there on their way out of the alley. The book shop was not particularly busy given that they had come in the middle of a weekday. The two decided to split up in order to get the books and have done with the shopping as quickly as possible.

She moved towards the back of the bookstore in search of _Standard Defensive Spells: Year 4._ Rose saw a mostly empty set of shelves and her eyes flickered to the top shelf that still held a few copies of the book sitting on them. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached for one of the books, her fingertips just brushing the bottom of the book’s spine. With a grunt of irritation, Rose stretched higher, trying to pluck at the bottom edge of the book and slowly work it out of the bookcase. Being fairly tall, she was not used to being unable to reach things. She had made very little progress at pulling out the book when a hand reached up and pulled the book out for her. Startled, she dropped down from her toes and stumbled. Another hand brushed against the small of her back to steady her. The heat of the palm through her robe sent a shiver up her spine.

“Thank you,” she said, a bit embarrassed, glancing up at the person who had helped her.

“You’re welcome,” Remus said back in a would-be-casual tone of voice, his blue eyes observing her face with a quiet intensity. Her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected sight, and she was all too aware of how close they were. Her shoulder was practically pressed into his chest and his hand had not left the small of her back. Rose could feel her face growing warm and stepped back from his arms, brushing her hair back from her face and glancing around the aisle awkwardly.

“Your book,” he offered it, and she accepted the text from his hand, taking in the sage green robes he was wearing. She thought the color looked nice against the paleness of his skin and the sandy brown of his hair. He looked very handsome. It took her a moment to realize that they were the same color as the manager’s robe at the front counter.

“Do you… work here?” She asked in surprise.

“Just started,” he said, not quite meeting her gaze.

“That’s great,” she told him, and he shrugged impassively. Rose could tell he was frustrated to have only found a job restocking shelves in a local bookstore when he was capable of doing so much more. The pair fell into an awkward silence, both remembering their disastrous attempt to reconnect in mid-July. Rose twisted her wedding ring around her finger absent-mindedly, trying to come up with something else to say.

“Are you here with Draco,” he asked gesturing to the book she was holding.

“Oh, no, actually—”

“Professor Lupin,” Harry’s surprised voice came from behind her, and Remus’ face lit up in an easy grin.

“Harry, how are you,” he asked as Harry came to stand beside her. Rose felt a pang of jealousy that Remus would easily smile upon seeing Harry but had looked so grave when confronted with her own face. Although she supposed she hadn’t exactly smiled at him either.

“I’m alright. It’s great to see you,” he said. Remus glanced from Harry to Rose and back again.

“Are you two here together,” he asked curiously.

“Rose is dropping me at the Weasley’s for the Quidditch World Cup,” Harry explained. “We’re just getting my school things first.”

“I see, do you need help finding anythi—”

“Mr. Lupin,” an annoyed voice interrupted the three as the manager rushed up to them. He shot a panicked look in Rose’s direction, obviously recognizing her as Lucius Malfoy’s daughter. “I’ve told you to stay away from customers. We hired you to stock shelves, not—”

“Remus here was just helping us,” Rose cut the man off, anger bubbling in her stomach at the man. “He’s a dear friend of us both. I would have hoped to see that he was being better treated by his employers.”

“Miss—Miss Malfoy, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” the man stammered while Rose held him in place with a spiteful glare.

“We were having a private conversation before you so rudely interrupted,” she dismissed the man with an irritable wave of her hand. He quickly backed away, muttering apologies all the while. Rose realized that both Harry and Remus were staring at her, and she gave them both a small smile. Harry was giving her a look of approval, while Remus’ face was unreadable. He did, however, return the smile she gave him, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest at the expression.

“I should get back to work,” he said apologetically, and Rose nodded, her eyes refusing to leave his. “It was nice seeing you both.”

“You too Professor,” Harry returned.

“Want to grab ice cream before we get your dress robes,” she asked Harry while they headed towards the checkout counter.

“That would be great,” he grinned. Rose glanced over her shoulder before they turned the corner, hoping to catch sight of Remus one more time. When she did, she found that his gaze was still lingering on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comment, bookmark. Every time you do, baby Kwesi smiles! Thanks to taswift13 for the quote suggestion. If you have any poems or song lyrics you think describe either Rose, Remus, or their relationship, feel free to add them in the comments. I am starting to run out of ideas for them lol.


	7. Chapter 7

_I_ _would like to follow  
you up the long stairway  
again & become  
the boat that would row you back  
carefully, a flame  
in two cupped hands  
to where your body lies  
beside me, and you enter  
it as easily as breathing in_

_I would like to be the air  
that inhabits you for a moment  
only. I would like to be that unnoticed  
& that necessary._

\- Margaret Atwood [Variations on the Word Sleep]

Rose accepted the glass of champagne from a house elf as she and Sam walked out onto the Quidditch field. There were already plenty of witches and wizards mulling around and several seemed to already be quite drunk. Rose tried to walk in a way that kept her strappy red pumps from sinking heel first into the ground. She was immediately regretting her choice of footwear. The shoes served to accentuate her already long legs and went well with the short slinky black dress she’d picked out for the occasion, but she’d forgotten that they wouldn’t be walking around on pavement. She just hoped she didn’t leave too many obvious holes in the field for tomorrow’s match.

“It’s enormous,” Sam gawked, staring around at the stadium in wonder. Rose knew what she meant, the professional Quidditch field was almost twice as large as the one they were used to playing on at Hogwarts and the seats towered around them hundreds of feet into the darkening sky.

“I thought you’ve been helping set this up for the last two months,” Rose commented, sipping the champagne.

“This is my first time getting to see it from the inside,” Sam explained. “Can you imagine getting to play on a field this size?”

“It would be incredible,” Rose grinned at her friend.

“Are the two of you Quidditch players?”

Rose nearly dropped her drink when she saw who had spoken to them. Looking particularly dashing in his shamrock green Quidditch robes, was Troy, one of the chasers for Ireland. He gave them an easy smile, his blue eyes sparkling at them from his lightly freckled face.

“Recent Hogwarts graduates,” Rose explained quickly while Sam gaped at the man. “Sam here played beater for Hufflepuff, and I was a chaser for Slytherin.”

“Ah yes, playing for my house team was what got me started with Quidditch. I’m Cillian by the way, great to meet you both,” he said, grinning at Sam who had managed by now to close her mouth and smile back. He shook hands with her before turning back to Rose.

“I didn’t catch your name, Miss…”

“Rose, my name is Rose,” she said quickly while his large warm hand encased her own. She could feel the telltale callouses on his hands from years of gripping a broomstick and catching and throwing a Quaffle.

“Rose, might I just say that you have the loveliest red hair I have ever seen,” he complimented her with a grin, flicking his own strawberry blonde hair out of his eyes. With a start she realized that his clear blue eyes were the exact same shade as Remus Lupin’s and her heart fluttered traitorously in her chest at the thought.

“Thank you,” she replied, tucking a strand of her long red hair behind her ear.

“Troy,” a voice called from farther down the field, and Cillian looked up and waved at two women in similar shamrock green robes.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, and Rose did not miss the way his eyes flicked over her body before he stepped past them.

“Merlin’s beard, that’s Mullet and Moran,” Sam said quietly, staring past the other women Troy was walking over to. The three together made up the most successful group of chasers on any professional Quidditch team for more than a decade.

“Getting acquainted with our stars, I see,” a man in yellow and black Quidditch robes walked up to the pair of them and gave them a boyish grin.

“Hello, Mr. Bagman,” Sam greeted amiably, and Rose’s eyes skimmed over Sam’s boss curiously. Once a beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, he still gave off the impression of a powerfully built man even beneath a few extra pounds of belly fat he’d put on since his retirement from Quidditch.

“This is my friend Rose Malf—er, Rose Dolohov. Rose this is Ludo Bagman, Head of Magical Games and Sports,” Sam introduced, stumbling over her change in last name.

“Thank you so much for having me,” Rose said, letting Ludo pump her hand up and down in a jovial greeting.

“The more the merrier,” he replied. “You’re Lucius Malfoy’s girl, right?”

“That’s me, sir.”

“Please, please, call me Ludo,” he said, brushing away the formality. “You’ll be in the top box with me tomorrow, then. I’m commentating.”

“I can’t wait,” she said sincerely, and he gave her another grin before walking off to socialize with others.

“I’m so jealous that you get to be in the top box,” Sam said with a bit of a pout, and Rose shrugged, finishing the rest of her champagne.

“Do you think the Bulgarian team is here since Ireland is,” Rose asked, scanning the field.

“I hope so,” Sam replied. “I wonder if we’ll run into Krum.”

The evening wore on while the pair mingled and drank. Though they caught sight of the Bulgarian beaters Volkof and Vulchanov, it didn’t seem as though Krum had attended the pre-game celebration. They spent most of the night socializing with Sam’s workplace acquaintances and by a quarter past ten the majority of the attendees were quite drunk. Rose was making her way to a water cooler that had been set up to the side of the stadium. She’d been spacing out her drinks between cups of water and only the warm buzz at the base of her skull indicated how much alcohol she’d ingested.

“Fuck,” Rose cursed, when the heel of her pump sank deep into the stadium grass once more. She was getting sick of walking around on her toes all night. Giving her leg an aggressive yank, her foot came free of the ground a bit too suddenly, and she stumbled forward, throwing out her arms to try to regain her balance.

“Alright there, Miss Rose?” Cillian asked, catching her by the arm, his other hand going to her hip. Rose found herself looking up into his blue eyes with both her hands pressed against his broad chest. He grinned at her while her face colored slightly.

“I was hoping we’d run into each other again… perhaps not quite so literally, but I’ll take what I can get,” he teased. He made no move to release her, and she felt his hand at her hip sink a bit lower. Her wedding ring was clearly visible on the hand she had laid against his chest, and Cillian clearly didn’t care. Unsure how she felt about this, Rose carefully disentangled herself from him and stepped out of reach.

“I’m so sorry; it’s these damn shoes,” she said, hoping he didn’t think she was drunk.

“Feel free to lean on me if you need to,” he held out an arm for her. “You were headed for the water cooler, right? I was on my way there myself. Have to stay hydrated for tomorrow.”

Hesitantly, Rose took his offered arm, letting him lead her over to the water and hand her a cup.

“So… you’re a chaser too,” he said, and Rose raised her eyebrows at this conversation starter.

“I was, for three years. Nowhere near as good as you, of course.”

“I’ve had a few more years of practice on you,” he replied good-naturedly.

“A few,” she agreed with a smile. Cillian’s easy-going attitude and handsome face made it hard to dislike him even if he was a bit handsy.

“What kind of broom did you ride?”

“A Nimbus 2001,” she answered.

“That’s pretty good for a school broom,” he said in surprise. “Ever been on a firebolt?”

“Is that the line you use on all the girls,” she joked, and he laughed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

“Well… none of them have ever called me out on it before,” he grinned at her, his eyes sparkling. Rose looked him over, taking in his narrow hips, broad shoulders, muscular arms, and strong jawline in a glance. ‘ _What the hell_ ,’ she thought, throwing caution to the wind. Setting down her water glass, she flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and smiled at him.

“Alright, Mr. Troy. Go on and show me your firebolt,” she told him suggestively, and his grin widened.

A few minutes later, with the pair at the opposite end of the field from the other partygoers, Rose had to admit that this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. The pair were standing over the firebolt, Troy’s arms wrapped around her tightly, her back pressed firmly against his chest. Straddling the broom had made her short dress ride high up her thighs and other than worrying that she’d soon be flashing her panties to whomever happened to look up, she was also worried about falling off.

“Ready,” he asked into her ear, and Rose nodded nervously, clutching the broom handle tightly. This didn’t seem like a very practical way to ride a broom—which was probably the point.

Troy kicked off the ground gently, and they rose high into the stadium air—much too high for anyone to see her underwear. She began to relax at the familiar feeling of being on a broomstick. She had missed it.

“Are you hanging on,” he asked. Rose gripped the handle tighter and squeezed her thighs together.

“Yep,” she answered, and as soon as the syllable was out of her mouth, they had shot forward at the speed of a bullet. Rose couldn’t help the small shriek of surprise that escaped her lips at the sudden acceleration. The speed of the firebolt was like nothing she’d experienced before. The whole broomstick trembled with power. Her crotch, which was almost directly on the wood itself, separated only by a thin layer of lacy underwear, was rubbing across the broom with each turn they made. Normally, Rose would be able to brace herself using the metal stirrups, but Troy’s feet were currently using them. All she could do was let her legs dangle and squeeze them tightly together around the handle which only pressed her intimate places more firmly against the wood. With a growing sense of arousal, Rose understood exactly why Cillian Troy liked to give women a ride on his firebolt.

“How do you like it,” he asked, slowing to a hover hundreds of feet in the air. He leaned back and released his hold on the broomstick, letting his hands slide back to her bare thighs, thumbs gently stroking the skin he found there. Rose wondered if he could feel the heat radiating from that part of her body.

“It’s fantastic,” she said honestly, looking around the stadium and down at the tiny dots on the ground that signified people.

“Did you want to try flying her?”

“Really?” She glanced back at him, and he grinned broadly and nodded. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body flush against his own, her butt now nestled against his crotch.

“Ready when you are,” he said huskily into her ear.

Rose took off like a shot, and she grinned a bit when his arms tightened around her to keep him from sliding off the back of the broom. He was clearly used to flying with women who didn’t know their way around a broomstick. It took less than a minute for him to abandon holding onto her and return his hands to the handle of the broom so that he could maintain his seat. Rose flew the broom through a series of rapid spirals and loop de loops, laughing joyously as she did so. She really had missed flying. When she eventually slowed to a stop, she could hear Troy chuckling appreciatively in her ear.

“I think this is the first time I’ve flown with an actual Quidditch player,” he said.

“I can tell,” she grinned proudly.

“I’ve had a few claim they played, but all of them panicked when we got in the air and really got going.”

“Thanks for taking me up,” she said. “I haven’t been on a broomstick in months.”

“Anytime love,” he said, taking back control of the broom and flying them in lazy circles towards the ground. Rose was almost surprised by exactly how light-hearted she felt at the moment. It was certainly the happiest she’d been since Remus had left. She’d spent the last couple months with her head buried in work so she could avoid dealing with her feelings of loss and heartache and hadn’t really realized exactly how miserable she was. Seeing Remus again earlier that day hadn’t helped matters.

When they touched down on the grass, she didn’t resist when Troy took her hand and pulled her towards the changing rooms. Light filtered into the room from the stadium and dimly lit the empty room. He pulled her into a shadow around a row of lockers, and she wasn’t at all surprised when his lips crashed down on hers. His hands slid around her waist and down across her backside. She let her hands run up his strong arms and tangle in his short blonde hair, moaning into his mouth while their tongues tangled together. In that moment she didn’t care that she was one of many women who had found themselves pressed up against a locker by Cillian Troy. She hadn’t had sex in months, wasn’t likely to in the foreseeable future, was horny beyond belief, and at this point almost anyone would do. They broke apart briefly and in the half darkness she could almost imagine that it was a different man staring at her with those piercingly blue eyes.

His hands groped for her breasts, quickly pulling her dress down far enough to free them. He planted kisses along her collarbone while he fondled her. She could feel his hands running down to the hem of her dress, and he pulled it up, wrapping one of her legs around his hip as he half lifted, half pressed her against the cold metal of the lockers. They were kissing again, and he was fumbling with his pants, and suddenly he had pushed the crotch of her panties aside and slid into her with a loud moan. Rose gasped into his mouth at the sudden intrusion, her toes curling in a haze of pleasure. The arm around her waist pulled her higher, the toes of her left foot barely touching the floor anymore. His pace was frantic as he thrust into her, bouncing her up and down along his length.

“Remus,” she whispered into the semidarkness as her pleasure built towards its peak. If Troy heard the name she’d moaned, he didn’t give any signs of caring.

“Cillian,” a female voice called inquiringly from the entrance to the changing room. “You in here?”

Rose squirmed in surprise at the unexpected interruption, but Troy wrapped his arm more tightly around her waist and did not stop thrusting into her. If the woman took even a few steps into the room, she would be able to see them. Rose oscillated between panic and pleasure, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.

“What… do you want… Moran,” he called back vaguely, the huskiness of his voice unmistakable. Silence fell for a moment, and Rose was certain that his fellow chaser could hear the wet slap of their bodies each time he buried himself into her.

“When you’re done with whatever tart you’ve dragged in here, Bagman wants a photo,” she said flatly—obviously annoyed at what she’d walked in on.

“Got… it…” he grunted, but Moran had already gone. Dropping his head to the crook of her neck, Troy let out a loud groan, his body shuddering while he emptied himself inside of her. Sliding out of her, he slowly lowered her the couple of inches to the ground. The pair stood there panting for a moment before he stepped back and began fixing his robes.

“Thanks for a good time Rose,” he said with a wink and a grin, kissing her on her cheek and moving quickly out of the locker room.

Rose stood there for a long moment, unsure exactly how to feel. This was her first encounter with casual sex and though she wasn’t feeling used, she didn’t feel particularly satisfied either. Moran’s sudden intrusion had distracted her enough to keep her from finishing and she was now extremely hot and bothered. Tentatively, she let her fingers trail down to her crotch, and she rubbed them in quick circles, finished herself off to thoughts of being pressed between Remus’ body and his desk. Panting quietly in the empty room, Rose pointed her wand at herself and said ‘Tergeo.’ Now clean, she adjusted her dress to cover her body and ran her fingers carefully through her hair. She had the good sense to look around and make sure no one was watching before walking out of the changing room.

“Where have you been,” Sam asked when she rejoined their group.

“Just getting water, was chatting with some people I ran into,” Rose answered evasively. The whole encounter with Troy had taken less than forty-five minutes. She looked over to where he and his teammates were crowded around Ludo Bagman, posing for a picture. Glancing up, he caught her eye, winked, and returned to what he was doing.

“More champagne, Miss?” a house elf squeaked up at her.

“Please,” she accepted the glass gratefully. Shifting uncomfortably in her damp underwear, the elation from her ride on the broomstick had long faded. Despite the recent pleasure and intimacy with another person, she still felt somehow empty and unsatisfied with no arms to lay in or chest to snuggle against. Throwing back her champagne, she tried not to think about what it meant that, even after these months, not even sex with a famous Quidditch player had the power to take her mind off of Remus Lupin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this will be a controversial chapter or not, but I think Rose has a lot of growing up to do and part of this includes figuring out what and who she wants. Also, general PSA to please use protection when having casual sex to prevent pregnancy and STIs. Rose, as a witch, doesn't have to worry about those things, you, as a muggle, do.


	8. Chapter 8

_I stood upon a high place,  
And saw, below, many devils  
Running, leaping,  
and carousing in sin.  
One looked up, grinning,  
And said, 'Comrade! Brother!'_

\- Stephen Crane [I Stood Upon a High Place]

Rose raised her eyebrows at the massive two-story tent, trying not to slap her palm to her forehead at the live peacocks that had been tethered outside of it in a small plot of land surrounded by an intricate hip high iron fence. The land around the tent contained a small garden and a large stone firepit. Why did her family have to be so over the top? It wasn’t as if there weren’t other tents that looked just as ostentatious. But to bring some of their peacocks along… really? The sky was still gray in the early dawn light, the smallest sliver of sun beginning to creep over the horizon. Walking up to the tent flap that was painted to look like a castle drawbridge, Rose drew the fabric aside and walked in. The interior of the tent was even larger than the exterior with a living space almost as large as their drawing room at home and various bedrooms connected to it.

“Rose!” Mariko’s familiar squeal of excitement preceded the embrace she threw around her. The redhead stumbled a bit upon being embraced so forcefully by her friend.

“Hello Mari. Hello Parker,” she added when she saw the lanky brunette walk into the main room from one of the many hallways. He waved at her with a small smile, looking at his fiancée and her enthusiasm a bit tiredly.

“Roselin, nice to see you again.”

“Hello Mr. Smythe,” Rose greeted Parker’s father when he strolled into the room after him.

“Please, call me Cyrus, Merlin knows you’re old enough now,” he said. The tall widower with his steel gray hair and pointed chin cast an imposing figure anywhere he went. His face was lightly lined with signs of age, but he still bore signs of the waning handsomeness once abundant in his youth. Rose pried Mari off of herself and shook his offered hand. The last time she’d seen Mr. Smythe—albeit briefly—had been at last year’s Christmas party.

“Are you joining us for the Cup as well, Cyrus?” The name rolled a bit awkwardly off her tongue, but his gray eyes gave her an approving look.

“Your parents were kind enough to offer us accommodations.”

“We’ll be glad to have you,” she said in her most generous tone of voice. “Will your other sons be joining us as well?”

“They are spending the match with their mother’s families,” he answered simply.

“Are your parents here, Mari,” she asked, turning to her friend who was grinning at her with a hazy look in her eye. Had she been drinking already?

“They’re arriving later, _I_ came with Parker,” she said, wrapping her arm around his and grinning up at the man. “Isn’t he cuuuute?”

“He’s fucking adorable, Mari,” Rose answered dryly. A cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from her side. She glanced up to see Mr. Smythe hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“Rose, dearest!” She had barely turned at the exclamation before Stefan’s hands were on her face and his lips pressed to hers.

She stiffened at the unexpected display of affection before relaxing and returning the kiss. He drew her into his arms and held her there for a moment. Rose knew that the public display of affection could only mean one thing. It took her only a moment of glancing over his shoulder to see the source of his distress. Margot Dolohov and her husband were emerging from a side room as well. Margot’s customary fan was obscuring half of her face, but Rose could still catch a glimpse of the blood red lipstick painted across her thin lips as she fluttered the ornament. Rose was so focused on the woman that she missed the calculating look Mr. Smythe was leveling at the pair of them.

“Daughter,” Fabian said magnanimously, opening his arms to her. Rose allowed herself to be embraced by him and tried not to squirm at the kiss he placed on her temple.

“Father, mother,” she greeted. The pair had insisted she use the familiar titles now that she was officially married into their family.

“How was your party m’dear,” Fabian asked, while Margot fluttered her fan disapprovingly. Trying not to think too much about Cillian Troy and their locker room tryst, Rose smiled.

“It was very enjoyable. We were able to meet some of the Irish and Bulgarian team, and I was introduced to Ludo Bagman.”

“And you attended this party with your… foreign friend,” Margot said so quietly that it barely carried. Rose locked eyes with Margot’s grayish-green ones. She glared at the woman but ultimately decided to pretend she hadn’t heard the remark. Rose turned back to Fabian.

“How was your trip? I had hoped to get here in time to help pitch the tent, but you all arrived earlier than I anticipated.”

“Not to worry, we got in alright. Had a bit of a hang-up with the owner of the campsite… he’s a _muggle_ you see,” Fabian explained, obvious derision in his voice. Rose smiled uncomfortably at this.

“Rose, you must try this vintage,” Mari stumbled over and shoved a glass of wine into her hand. Rose helped to steady her friend before accepting the drink.

“Mari, I think you need to drink some water,” Rose told her, giving Parker a significant look. He scratched his head sheepishly.

“We just arrived from a party as well,” he explained. Rose nodded in understanding and carefully sipped the red wine. It was, she had to admit, very good.

“Should you be drinking,” Margot asked loud enough that Rose could not ignore her this time. Rose met her gaze curiously before realizing that her mother-in-law was under the impression that she and Stefan were trying to conceive. Rose smiled icily at the woman and took another larger sip of wine.

“I’m on my period,” she lied. Fabian looked around the tent awkwardly, and Margot’s eyes narrowed. Stefan grabbed her hand and pulled her away hastily.

“Rose, finally,” Draco’s voice interrupted as the young man walked in, glancing over at Mari with a mixture of interest and disgust.

“Hello baby brother,” Rose grinned, sipping her glass of wine and smiling down at the blonde.

“Dracooo,” Mari crooned, wrapping her arms around his head in what was meant as an affectionate hug. This brought her breasts into contact with his face, and Rose watched in amusement when his cheeks lit up bright red. Draco pushed her away from him quickly, glaring daggers at both of them.

“Get me _out_ of here,” he mumbled to his sister.

“Sure, let’s go get some water for the campfire,” Rose laughed, then glanced over at Stefan and raised her eyebrows. He nodded gratefully and followed the pair out. Rose handed her wine glass off to Parker. “We’ll be back soon Mari. _Drink water_.”

Many of the tents—like the Asare’s whom she’d stayed with the previous night—had been erected nearly a week or more ago. This morning, however, witches and wizards were beginning to arrive in earnest whether through apparition or portkeys. Both Bulgarian and Irish supporters had bedecked their tents in a variety of colors and images to show their support for their preferred team. Ministry officials were running around looking haggard, and when they finally reached the front of the queue for water, Rose was careful to hide her wand while she conjured a couple large buckets for them to fill.

“Rose!” She glanced up and smiled at Alex who was walking over to her, balancing Kwesi on his hip.

“Morning Alex,” she responded leaning in to accept the kiss he planted on her cheek.

“I see you found your family,” he smiled. Draco looked at the man uncomfortably, and Rose felt a cold sweat break out over her body. There was no reason for him to suspect that the man was a muggle with everyone dressed in muggle attire that day.

“Alex, this is my brother Draco, and my husband, Stefan,” she introduced. Alex wiggled his long magenta nails at the pair.

“Lovely to meet you dears. Rose has told us so much about you.”

“Are Sam and Ebo up,” Rose asked when neither Stefan nor Draco responded to the man.

“Not yet. This little rascal here wouldn’t stop crying, so I decided to take him on a walk,” Alex smiled a bit tensely at the small boy.

“I hope he settles down so you have time to sleep before the match,” Rose said, bidding them both goodbye and heading back to their tent.

“Rose…” Draco said slowly, glancing at her with narrowed eyes. “Was that man… a muggle?”

“Hey, isn’t that Patsy,” Rose asked, pointing over his shoulder. The arrival of Draco’s girlfriend effectively distracted Draco from his line of inquiry. It wasn’t long before Draco had wandered off with her, and Rose and Stefan were left alone. Rose glanced sidelong at her still silent husband.

“What’s wrong with you,” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. Rose paused and put her hand on her hip, glaring daggers at him.

“Don’t start hiding things from me now,” she said irritably. He glanced up at her with the gray-green eyes that were so alike and yet so different from his mother’s.

“My parents have… reminded me,” he began in a low voice. “Of my responsibility to produce an heir.”

“Already? We are only just married,” Rose said with surprised disbelief in her voice. “We’ve barely had time to—”

“I know, Rose,” he soothed her. “It’s nothing you need to worry about yet.”

Rose gave him a scathing look, pulled the water bucket out of his hand and hurried back to the tent. It was all well and good for him to tell her not to worry when he wasn’t the one with the responsibility of bearing a child. She arrived back to see Cyrus Smythe sitting out front around a fire that he was slowly adding logs to. He looked up at her and quirked a heavy brow at the expression on her face.

“Lover’s quarrel?” he asked nonchalantly, taking the water jugs from her and pouring some of the liquid into a large pot he’d set over the flames. She gave him a rueful grin and conjured a chair, sitting beside him.

“How could you tell,” she asked, watching Stefan walk back into the tent without looking at her.

“Three sons, three wives. I know what an angry spouse looks like,” he said, his lips tugging back in a doleful smirk, and he chuckled. She couldn’t help the dark chuckle that escaped her own lips.

“Tea,” he asked when the water began to boil. Rose nodded and accepted a cup from him.

“It _can’t_ be Roselin Malfoy,” a voice called to her, and Rose looked up to see a man stopping just outside the decorative fence. Rose nearly dropped her tea when she saw who was calling to her.

“L—Liam,” she stuttered as he let himself into the front yard and walked over to the pair. Liam Burke cut quite as dashing a figure as always with his chocolate brown hair slicked back from his face and amber-brown eyes looking at her piercingly from beneath well-groomed eyebrows. He was dressed formally in a black suit, and Rose who was wearing jean cutoffs and a baggy t-shirt felt quite underdressed in comparison.

“Are you back in the country for the Cup,” she asked and immediately wished she hadn’t. He quirked his brow and made a sweeping gesture with his arm at himself and the grounds around them in answer to the question as if to say, ‘ _isn’t it obvious?_ ’ He’d always had the uncanny ability to make her feel incredibly stupid.

“How have your travels been,” she tried again.

“Wonderful, I’ve just done the Americas and will be heading east after the match,” he told her. “I believe I should be congratulating you. I still take the _Prophet_ and saw the announcement in the papers. Stefan Dolohov—a good match all things considered.”

Rose matched Liam’s wolfish smile with an icy one of her own. She knew that ‘all things considered’ meant her being a halfblood and the Dolohov family—though a wealthy and powerful one—not being one of the twenty-eight families in England who could claim a completely pureblood lineage. Stepping forward, he took one of her hands in both of his and grinned down at her.

“You know, if you get _bored_ tonight, I’ll be just down the row here. Feel free to visit whenever you’d like.”

Rose oscillated between the desire to slap the man for propositioning her so shamelessly in front of another person and the bitter awareness that she did not want to make an enemy of the Burke family. Smiling up at him, she carefully pulled her hand out of his.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice seeing you again Liam.” Her ex-schoolmate gave her a short bow, nodded to Cyrus Smythe who had been watching the entire interaction with raised eyebrows, and headed off. ‘ _He is just pompous enough to believe that I really did enjoyed seeing him again,’_ she thought. Rose huffed irritably, resisted the urge to throw her tea at the man’s retreating back and instead sat down.

“Old friend of yours,” Cyrus asked. Rose gave him a dark look and he chuckled. “Perhaps my soon to be daughter-in-law had the right idea about how to start off the day. Whiskey?”

Against her better judgement, Rose allowed Mr. Smythe to pour a heavy shot of whiskey into her tea from a small flask he pulled from his suit jacket. It was the Quidditch Cup though, so why not?

“I’m afraid that article Skeeter wrote on you didn’t do you any favors,” Cyrus told her, sipping his green tea and whiskey cocktail casually. “Or… depending on your preferences, she did you a very big favor.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad of an article,” Rose flushed, picking up on what the man was implying.

“As I said, it all depends on what you want.”

Rose sipped her drink silently. She supposed that Rita Skeeter’s portrayal of her as a heartbreaker would send out signals that she was open for sex with anyone who had the gall to try. Skeeter claiming that Rose had truly fallen in love with Stefan would be easily overlooked by many. She wondered briefly whether that was why Cillian Troy had sought her out specifically the night before, but he hadn’t seemed to know who she was. Deciding it didn’t matter, she then wondered if the article was what was making Margot and Fabian so anxious. Were they worried that if Stefan didn’t hurry up and knock her up that someone else might? The thought suddenly crossed her mind that sitting out here alone with another man was probably not going to help assuage their worries.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Smythe.”

“Cyrus.”

“Cyrus,” she agreed and hurried in to find Stefan.

Most of the day was spent lounging around drinking and getting Mari to sober up. Both of the Arai’s and joined them before long. Lucius and Narcissa returned from their walk around the camp that morning to say hello to various important officials. Before long they were all lounging out in the yard around the fire, watching as people passed by and calling out to those they knew. Rose saw a variety of familiar faces pass them over the course of the day from Oliver Wood to Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley family. She didn’t dare acknowledge that she’d seen them but did introduce Ludo Bagman to her friends and family when he wandered by.

Before she knew it, the morning had turned into a pleasant evening and the group was heading towards the Quidditch stadium with thousands of other spectators. Rose had changed into a short silver dress but had the good sense to wear black ballet flats rather than heels. The Malfoys, Stefan, Parker, his father, and Mariko headed towards the top box—a location where one had to receive personal tickets from the Ministry in order to sit. The others headed off to their almost as illustrious seats. It had been the generous donation Lucius had made to Rose’s research at St. Mungo’s that had allowed him to receive the special tickets, and she was beyond grateful that they would not be sitting with Margot and Fabian. She was not entirely sure how Mr. Smythe had received an invitation, but he was high up in the Department of Magical Law and worked closely with Cornelius Fudge.

“Ah, and here’s Lucius,” Cornelius Fudge said, turning from his conversation with none other than Harry Potter to greet the Malfoy family. Rose was a bit shocked to see the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione in the top box but recovered from her surprise quickly. Rose watched her mother’s nose wrinkle in disgust at the sight of them.

“Ah, Fudge,” Lucius said, extending his hand. “I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa, or our son, Draco. I believe you are, however, familiar with our daughter Rose, and her husband Stefan.”

“How do you do,” he said with a grin and a small smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Dolohov, a pleasure to see you both again. And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk… Obalalansk… Mr… well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister of Magic and he can’t understand a word of what I’m saying anyway so never mind. And let’s see, who else? You know Arthur Weasley, I dare say?”

Rose could feel the tension radiating between the two men as they looked each other over.

“Good lord Arthur, what did you have to sell to get seats in the top box? Surely your house would not have fetched this much,” Lucius commented snidely when Fudge was not paying attention.

“Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He and his family are here as my guests.”

“How—how nice,” Arthur Weasley said from behind gritted teeth. Rose tried to ignore the curling sneer her father was now giving Hermione and couldn’t help admire the fact that she was unwilling to drop his gaze.

“Slimy gits,” she heard Ron mutter while they made their way to their seats. She couldn’t help the flush that came across her face—half in embarrassment over her own family and half in irritation at Ron’s snide remark. She took her seat between Stefan and Cyrus, looking out over the stadium in growing anticipation.

“Everyone ready,” Ludo Bagman called as he hurried into the box excitedly and pointed his wand at his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen welcome! Welcome to the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup! And now, without further ado, kindly put your wands in the air for the Bulgarian and Irish National Team Mascots!”

The crowd cheered as the Veela and Leprechauns did their introductory rounds of the stadium before falling silent in preparation for the teams to take the field.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome the Bulgarian National Team! I give you… Dimitrov, Ivanova, Zograf, Levski, Vulchanov, Volkov, and Krum! And now, please greet the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting… Connolly, Ryan, Troy, Mullet, Moran, Quigley, and Lynch!”

Rose cheered loudly for each player that flew onto the field, but especially for Troy who passed mere feet from their seats on his lap of the field. It was with an adolescent sense of satisfaction that she shouted along with the other Ireland supporters when he scored the first points of the game. Troy, Mullet, and Moran truly made a fantastic team that Rose couldn’t help admiring. She slammed her hands down on the armrests of her seat in concern when a bludger nearly smashed into Cillian’s face. Realizing that she had gripped Cyrus Smythe’s wrist, she looked up at him apologetically, but he only patted her hand unconcernedly.

As the game progressed and the Irish chasers began to rack up goal after goal over the Bulgarian team, the Bulgarians began to fight dirty. It was almost like watching a strategy out of Marcus Flint’s playbook as the Bulgarians took unnecessary risks and awarded the Irish free penalty shots. The mascots of each team soon devolved into their own battle on the field far below where Rose had walked the previous night. Almost before she knew what had happened, Viktor Krum had sped after Lynch in a steep dive towards the field and pulled up at the last moment with snitch in hand.

In minutes, the enormous golden cup was brought into the top box and given to Fudge.

“Let’s give a hand to our gallant losers, Bulgaria!” Ludo called, and she clapped along with everyone else while the Bulgarian National Team filed into the box and shook hands with their own Minister of Magic and Cornelius Fudge. Rose stared unabashedly at Viktor Krum along with everyone else in the box when he walked by. His face was a complete mess and the grace he displayed in the air on a broomstick did not quite translate to walking around on the ground.

Then it was time for the Irish team to come into the box. Rose cheered loudly while Ludo Bagman called out their names and Troy and Quigley lifted the Quidditch World Cup into the air to thunderous applause. Cillian Troy had eyes only for the cup and his teammates and didn’t see her. Rose could not blame him. It was only after he had passed the cup to one of his teammates and that he glanced around the box and saw Rose. His blue eyes widened comically at seeing her, and she couldn’t help the smirk that played across her face. It was somehow comforting to know that he hadn’t had any idea who she was last night. Between Severus and Remus and even her own marriage, Rose was sick of things happening to her because she was a Malfoy or a Potter.

Cillian recovered from his surprise quickly and grinned at her. He lifted his eyebrows suggestively and surreptitiously flashed her the number two with his fingers from beneath hem of his sleeve. Rose smiled but subtly shook her head. As nice as a round two with Cillian Troy sounded—especially after he had just won the Quidditch World Cup—there was no way she’d be able to sneak away under Margot Dolohov’s watchful eyes. Troy shrugged, smiled, and turned back to his teammates not looking too put out. After all, there were hundreds of beautiful witches and wizards he could pick from who’d happily warm his bed tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always your comments and kudos mean everything to me, and I am greedy so give me all of them!  
> Had to end this chapter here or it would have been way too long. As always, I hope my OCs are interesting enough to stand on their own when romance or huge plot moments aren't happening. Trying to set up for some things and also trying to keep in mind that I want to do the SnapexRose prequel at some point and don't want characters from that time to just disappear into nothingness in this series *cough* Liam Burke *cough*. I also didn't expect to like writing about Troy so much. Excuse me while I go write a short super steamy series on him lol. Anyways, hope you liked it!


	9. Chapter 9

*****Trigger Warning: chapter contains themes of sexual assault**

_You are my home._   
_But I know too well,_   
_That even a home can house monsters._

\- Simonne Stellenboom [Monsters at Home]

The celebrations did not end when they returned to the tent. Many of the other pureblood families had joined them including the Parkinsons, Crabbes, Goyles, Zambinis, and Notts. Draco was talking animatedly about the match with his friends while Rose sat with Stefan, Mariko, Parker, and the other adults. Alcohol was shared liberally, and Rose was on her fourth—or was it her fifth—drink far sooner than expected. She sat around a table with her parents, her in-laws, Stefan, Mariko, and both the Smythes.

“Of course, it was inevitable that Ireland would win,” Fabian was saying, his cheeks rosy from inebriation. “It’s just the natural order of things. The English are a superior breed of wizards.”

There were hearty cheers to this from around the circle. Vaguely, Rose registered his comment enough to find it amusing that Fabian was claiming an Irish victory for the English—which was, in itself, a very English thing to do. She blinked hazily and leaned against Stefan’s shoulder, not paying much attention to the conversation but enjoying the warmth of his body near her own. She was in the pleasant stage of drunkenness where her insides felt hot and euphoric, but the room had not yet begun to spin. As she sat there, she became aware of a hand on her thigh. At first, she thought it was Stefan’s, and she did not bother to push it away. His hand was near her knee and the way his thumb moved back and forth over her skin sent pleasant ripples up her leg.

“Did you see the rabble that came from other countries—what a disgrace,” someone was saying. Rose’s eyelids were flickering while she half dozed on Stefan’s arm. The hand crept higher, leaving her knee for less innocent territory, long fingers beginning to massage her inner thigh, creeping up inch by inch. In her drunken haze, Rose’s mind processed that what the hand was doing felt nice, and she thought momentarily of Cillian’s hands running up her legs, and then of Remus’ thumb inscribing small circles on her thigh. Stefan laughed weakly at something that was said and Rose sat up with a start. She shifted her leg away from the hand which she suddenly realized was on the wrong side of her body to belong to Stefan.

“Are you alright, Rose,” Stefan asked, glancing over at her.

“F—fine,” she said quickly, not daring to look round at Cyrus Smythe who was sitting on her other side. He had withdrawn his hand when she shifted, and she hoped it would not return. She felt incredibly flustered at the idea of the man touching her in the presence of not only his own son—one of her longtime friends—but also her husband, parents, and in-laws.

“I think I nodded off for a moment,” she said, smiling sheepishly at her husband. She hoped this would be a hint to Cyrus that she hadn’t been intentionally allowing him to grope her leg.

“It looks like Mari’s done the same,” he replied quietly. It was true that Mariko had passed out against Parker’s shoulder. Rose wasn’t surprised to see this as Mariko had been drunk most of the day to begin with. She suspected her friend would have a spectacular hangover in the morning.

“Fifteen years ago, most of this riffraff wouldn’t have shown themselves in public for fear of us,” Lucius was saying, and the others muttered darkly at this, nodding in agreement.

Rose hesitantly settled back against Stefan, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Within moments, Cyrus’ hand was sliding back across the top of her thigh, and he squeezed her leg much more firmly this time, his fingers venturing ever higher, nudging aside the hem of her flowy silver dress.

“I’d better get Mari to bed,” Rose said, practically leaping to her feet. Stefan raised his eyebrows in surprise but nodded. Rose didn’t look at Cyrus when she stepped past him to collect Mariko from Parker.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, helping her sling Mariko’s arm around her shoulder. Mari’s dark eyes flickered slightly, and she mumbled a string of nonsense while Rose guided her to one of the side bedrooms. Rose had been drinking while sitting down for the past hour and found that she was a lot less steady on her feet than she’d expected to be. Pulling back the quilt, she helped Mari lay down in the bed, careful to position her on her side. Rose removed her shoes and placed a trashcan at the edge of the bed. Brushing dark hair back from her pale face, Rose kissed Mariko’s forehead.

“Sleep tight you sloppy bitch,” she said quietly, grinning at her friend before standing and turning to leave. She had extended her hand towards the doorknob when it began to turn on its own. Rose stepped back at the sight of Cyrus Smythe pushing open the door to the room.

“Hello Roselin,” he said, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Mr. Smythe,” she greeted hesitantly. His gray eyes gazed at her calculatingly for a long moment and at last he smiled. The expression might have been charming had it not been quite so predatory. His eyes held the unmistakable gleam of a man who’d been drinking heavily. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

“I believe I asked you to call me Cyrus,” he said in a soft low voice, taking a step towards her.

“C—Cyrus,” she smiled back at him, glancing over his shoulder towards the door. “I was just about to head back to the party.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’d miss us if we were to… linger,” he said, taking another long stride into the room. Rose took another step back and felt the back of her legs brush against the foot of the bed.

“You have grown into a very beautiful woman, Rose,” he told her, taking another step forward. Lifting a hand, he brushed her hair back from her face with one of his long fingers. Rose flinched at the contact, and his hand dropped away.

“Why do you flinch? I did not strike you. I only wished to pay you a compliment,” he said sternly.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered, her face flushing. Had she overreacted? Rose bit her lip and glanced at the floor. She resisted flinching this time when his fingertips touched her chin and slowly lifted her face to look up at his. She was struck suddenly by his impressive height and the strength of his fingertips and realized that her heart had begun to beat very fast.

“Now what would you have to be sorry about,” he breathed, cupping her face and caressing it with his thumb.

“I should go,” Rose said, placing a hand on his chest to push past him towards the exit. She stumbled when he caught her wrist and practically fell into him. He smirked at her.

“I like it when a woman plays hard to get,” he said, and his lips were suddenly and roughly pressed against her own. Rose’s eyes widened in shock. This could not be happening. She was not kissing Parker’s father.

His arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tight against him, her hands trapped between her own body and his chest. When her lips parted to utter a sound of protest, his tongue invaded her mouth. His hands wandered down her back to cup her buttocks. The room spun suddenly when he pushed her back onto the bed. She was so disoriented for a moment that she made no move to stand up. Blinking in hazy disbelief, she stared up at Cyrus who had leaning over her, one leg on either side of hers. Leering down at her, he began to pull off his suit jacket and loosen his tie. Rose heard Mariko mumble in her sleep mere feet from her, but she did not wake.

“Cyrus, please, there’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” Rose said, trying to squirm out from under him.

“Don’t pretend that you haven’t been flirting all day,” he said husily, leaning down and planting kisses along her neck. One of his hands buried itself in her hair while the other began to grope her breasts through her dress. Rose stared at the tent ceiling, her alcohol-ridden mind trying vainly to process his words. True they had spent time together, but she hadn’t been flirting—had she? Rose was pulled from her thoughts when one of his hands began to slide down her abdomen. Panic began to well up in her stomach when his fingers began searching drunkenly for her most intimate places, pressing against her groin over the thin fabric of her dress. Her wand—she needed her wand—but she didn’t know where it was.

“S—stop,” she squirmed, trying to push his hand away. He sat back for a moment, looking down at her curiously. His hands pressed into the mattress on either side of her head.

“Now, now Roselin,” he smirked, reaching out and rolling one of her nipples roughly between his fingertips from where it was just visible through the material of the dress. Rose’s back arched in a mixture of surprise and pleasure. “It’s not as if your _husband_ will be taking care of you later, so you might as well enjoy yourself.”

“How—how do you—”

“I’ve worked closely with Stefan for years. Some things you just pick up on,” he grinned, looking over her appreciatively. “It would be a crime to let a body like yours waste away. Don’t tell me you haven’t been lonely over these past few months. Let me help you feel good tonight.”

Rose opened and closed her mouth. She had been lonely. Lonely to an extent she hadn’t fully realized until her experience with Cillian. But did that mean she wanted this? Her hazy mind struggled to discern the difference between arousal and desire. She felt almost frozen in place while he leaned down and began to nibble her earlobe, his hand moving back to rest between her thighs. Rose watched the ceiling spin slightly, and she tried to blink away the feeling of intoxication that was threatening to overwhelm her. ‘ _No_ ,’ she thought, but she wasn’t sure that her lips moved to form the word.

Cyrus’ hand froze in its journey up her leg when a rapid knocking came from the door.

“Rose, Rose are you in there?”

Rose was surprised to hear her mother’s voice coming from the hallway beyond. Cyrus silently slid off of her and stepped to the side of the room out of view of the door. Rose sat up slowly and stumbled towards the door, propping it open to see a concerned looking Narcissa standing there.

“Mom?”

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” she said, glancing over her shoulder back towards the main room. “I need you to take Draco and get away from the campsite.”

“W—what?” Rose’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Narcissa’s blue eyes flashed angrily at her.

“Do it now Rose. There’s no time for questions,” Narcissa handed Rose her wand which she realized she must have left at the table with the others. She accepted it like a lifeline and followed her mother back into the room. She was vaguely aware of Cyrus Smythe slipping out behind them.

Rose could immediately discern that in the handful of minutes she’d been gone, the mood in the room had changed. Had she been more sober, she would have noticed that the conversation had been turning towards this all night. By now, most of the men had gathered around the table Lucius was sitting at. They all shared leering spiteful expressions that reminded her almost too much of the way Cyrus had looked while looming over her body. It made Rose shiver.

“After all these years, they think they’ve won, those muggle-lovers, mudbloods, and bloodtraitors,” Lucius Malfoy was saying to his entranced audience. He was wearing a cruel sneering expression that Rose had never seen on his face before. “Making us sully our hands with that muggle filth just to get into an event where only the purest of wizards should have the right to be.”

There were sounds of agreement from around the circle.

“They thought when the Dark Lord was defeated that they could go back to their lives of perversions—continuing to corrupt and dilute wizarding blood… _muddying_ it,” Lucius looked positively snakelike and some of the onlookers even hissed at this statement. “They have almost forgotten us. But we have not forgotten. We are still loyal to the old ways, to the pure ways.”

There were hearty cheers at this. The pleasant warmth Rose had been experiencing earlier was long gone, and her body felt suddenly cold. She could see Stefan’s face where he sat at the table. He looked ghostly white. She didn’t know how to get his attention without drawing too much to herself situated as he was in the inner circle. She saw that Parker was also looking uncomfortable, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the table top. The slow fluttering of a fan drew her eyes to Margot who was sitting on Lucius’ left side. Her fan had dropped to her chin and there was an almost manic grin spreading like a gash across her face while she listened to his words. Her pearly white teeth seemed almost like fangs to Rose’s addled mind. Rose had never felt unsafe in her parents’ presence before. She’d heard talk like this in the past, but never were the words filled with such terrible purpose.

“You have all felt it,” another voice spoke up unexpectedly. Rose realized that Cyrus Smythe had rejoined the circle. He stood behind his son, both hands placed on Parker’s shoulders who suddenly appeared shrunken and pale in his father’s intimidating presence. “In the past few months. _He_ is growing stronger again.”

This led to a round of fearful whispers, even her father looked suddenly uncomfortable. A memory of red eyes flashed through Rose’s mind making her shudder.

“And what will he find when he returns,” the quiet voice of Margot Dolohov cut through the whispers like a knife. Her voice was icy and stern, and the listeners inevitably leaned towards her to hear what she had to say. Her fan was closed now, and she clasped it in her hand like the handle of a whip. “A group of cowards who did whatever they could to stay out of Azkaban? Or loyal servants who have not let the power of his purposes nor the fear of his name diminish?”

“Rose, _go_ ,” Narcissa hissed at her. Rose jumped, startled at the ferocity in Narcissa’s voice. She realized that Narcissa was also afraid and that made her heart speed up in her chest. What was going to happen?

“Get yourself and Draco away from here. Say that you need a walk to clear your head. I don’t want the two of you anywhere near this,” Narcissa continued, putting a hand on Rose’s arm and pushing her towards where her brother was sitting with his friends. They were all watching the adults with rapt attention. It was almost like she was snapped out of a trance. Rose walked quickly to Draco and leaned over his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

“We’re going on a walk, come on,” she said firmly, placing a hand under his arm and practically dragging him up out of his chair.

“Rose, what—”

“Right now, Draco.”

“I want to—”

“No, Draco.” Rose shoved open the tent flap, one hand clutching his elbow, the other wrapped around her wand so tight her knuckles had gone white. As they walked quickly through the cool night air, Rose realized she was covered in a fine layer of sweat.

“Where are we going, Rose? Let go,” Draco managed to shake off her hand and the pair slowed to a more casual walking speed.

“Mother told us to go for a walk, so we’re going for a walk.”

“Why,” he asked, but when their eyes met, Rose could tell that he too had sensed the mood of terrible purpose that had pervaded the tent. She didn’t answer, and the two walked quietly together.

Rose wasn’t sure what time it was, but she knew it had to be after midnight. Despite this, there were still wizards and witches outside celebrating. Most were standing around fires and talking and drinking. A few waved jovially while they walked past. Rose lifted her hand back in response, giving them a tense smile. They could hear the occasional sound of firecrackers and poppers going off around them. It was strange to emerge from the deadly mood of their tent to find that everyone else was still celebrating. While they walked, Rose’s heart began to slow. Maybe nothing would happen, maybe their mother was just being paranoid.

The walk to the woods at the far end of the field took them nearly ten minutes. And when they got there, Rose didn’t know what to do. Draco sat on a fallen log while Rose paced back and forth. If she could have, she would have apparated and taken him back to the manor, but now that the initial adrenaline spike had worn off, Rose was once again aware of how intoxicated she was. She couldn’t risk apparition—especially side along apparition—in this state. She could very well splinch one or both of them.

“How long are we going to stay out here,” Draco drawled irritably, picking bark off the fallen tree and flicking it onto the ground. “Are you sure mother told you we needed to go on a walk? Or did you misunderstand when she said you needed to sober up?”

“Can you not be a little shit for two seconds,” Rose snarled at him.

“Sure. When you stop being an overbearing cow,” he said, rolling his eyes. Their argument was halted by a loud bang and both of them looked back at the campsite. On the far end, the house belonging to the muggle family had just gone up in flames. Rose could have sworn her heart stopped for a moment and then she felt her feet carrying her—almost of their own volition—back towards the campsite.

“Where are you going,” Draco shouted after her.

“Stay there,” she yelled over her shoulder, sprinting back along the rows of tents. Some men wolf whistled as she ran by, but she didn’t have time to care that her dress was probably bouncing up high enough to show everyone her underwear. It seemed that no one had yet noticed the shift towards the deadly that the night had taken. But Rose was beginning to discern what sounded like screams from the shouts of celebration. Now in the midst of the tents, she couldn’t see the other end of the field, but it seemed that the night sky was brighter in that direction from the orange glow of flames. Was the fire spreading?

“Sam! Ebo, Alex!” Rose shouted as she ran up to the entrance of their tent. A tired looking Ebo stuck his head through the flap and looked her over in surprise. She heard the unmistakable sound of Kwesi crying in the background and someone muttering irritably.

“Rose? Are you alrig—”

“You need to go,” Rose said breathlessly. “You need to take them and go now.”

“Rose, what—” Ebo’s confused reply was cut off by another bang and an unmistakable scream. He looked over her head at the orange glow, and his eyes hardened.

“Please, please go,” Rose begged him nearly on the verge of tears.

“Come with us,” he said, his brown eyes looking at her in concern.

“I can’t,” she said, gesturing around wildly. “My brother…”

Rose’s eyes widened when the sudden realization that her other brother was somewhere in this group of tents quite unaware that a group of Death Eaters had decided to have some fun. Turning, she began to run back the way she’d come. She was sure she’d seen the Weasley’s heading in that direction earlier that morning.

“Rose!” Ebo called after her, but she ignored him and hoped they’d get out while they could.

Rose couldn’t go as quickly now that she was taking time to read the names labeling the different campsites. Because of this, she knew the group of Death Eaters were beginning to catch up to her. She glanced over her shoulder from time to time to try to keep track of their progress. Smoke was now billowing up from tents that had caught fire. Through the haze she thought she could just discern dark figures, hooded and cloaked, moving across the ground. Screams were coming from high in the air, and Rose’s heart sank at the shadowed figures that were suspended there, suspecting that it was the muggle family who’d lived in that house. People were beginning to notice now, and she was no longer the only one running up the field.

At last she stumbled across two small tents on a plot that was marked with the sign ‘Weezly’.

“Harry,” Rose yelled, running up to one of the tents. “Harry, are you in there! Harry, wake up, we need to go.”

A redheaded man stuck his head out of the tent, blinking sleepily at her. It took her a moment to realize the man was Charlie Weasley who had been one of her fellow students at Hogwarts for her first four years. Though the two had never spoken, he seemed to recognize her as well.

“Rose,” he asked, yawning and stepping out, looking over her in concern. “It’s pretty late. Have you been drinking?”

“Charlie, get Harry and your family, you all need to get out of here.”

“Charlie, what’s wrong,” another voice called, and Mr. Weasley stuck his head out of the tent. He looked straight past the pair of them when another loud bang sounded, and his brow furrowed in concern.

“Charlie, wake up the girls—quickly,” he said, drawing his head back into the tent. In a moment, the rest of the Weasleys, Ron, and Hermione were out of the tents, looking around at the growing chaos in confusion.

“That’s sick,” Ron said, staring past her, his freckles standing out starkly against his white face. Rose turned to see the hooded group drawing slowly but inevitably nearer. Curses were being sent in all directions and many people were fleeing—but some, drawing hoods over their own heads, were joining the group, shouting and laughing as they did so. Rose’s eyes traveled up to the muggles suspended high above the ground. One of the masked men had flipped the woman upside down, causing her dress to fall down over her head and reveal her underwear. Another was making a clearly unconscious child spin in dizzying circles. Rose felt suddenly nauseas.

“We’re going to go help the Ministry,” Mr. Weasley said. “You lot, get into the woods and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins began hurrying off towards the darkness of the woods. Rose watched numbly while Arthur, Bill, and Percy all took off towards the group of hooded figures.

“Are you coming?” Rose jumped at the question Charlie asked her, his brown eyes staring at her expectantly. Rose clutched her wand tighter, her mouth dry. He was asking her to come and fight them. To help catch and possibly harm her own father—perhaps her mother too if Narcissa had joined in.

“Me?” She asked, her voice cracking.

“We need everyone’s help,” he said. Rose took a step back, her hand that was wrapped tightly around her wand feeling suddenly limp and powerless.

“I—I can’t, I’m sorry,” she said, flinching at the look of disgust he threw her way before hurrying off to help his family.

Feeling like a complete coward, Rose turned towards the woods and fled, throwing up shield charms behind her as she ran. She could do that much at least. She was being jostled around by the crowd of people now fleeing in earnest. Someone shoved her to get past, and Rose fell. She managed to catch herself with her free hand, wincing when someone’s elbow clipped the side of her face. Quickly, to avoid being trampled, she stumbled back to her feet and continued running. Rose reached the edge of the forest in time to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione running past Draco and disappearing into the tree line.

“Keep that big bushy head down Granger,” Draco was calling after them and beneath the sneer, Rose thought she detected a hint of worry in his voice. When Draco turned back, however, there was no trace of concern in his eyes. Not until he caught sight of her.

“What on earth happened to you,” he asked. Rose glanced down at herself. She was covered in sweat and dirt and one of her knees was bleeding and the side of her mouth felt swollen where an elbow had hit her.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, pointing her wand at herself and muttering, “Tergeo.”

The grime was gone in an instant, but her dress was still torn, and blood still trickled down her leg. Rose tried to calm her racing heart by taking a few deep breaths and then turned her attention to her little brother, looking him over to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

“I’m fine,” he said, his eyes fixed on the chaos over her shoulder. She could tell by the angle of his chin that he was watching the muggles being contorted as if by a sadistic puppeteer. She thought his face looked a bit pale. Rose kept her back to the chaos, feeling like even more of a coward with each passing minute. She didn’t want to see what they were doing to the muggle family now, and she didn’t want to see their parents being arrested.

“Can’t you get us out of here,” he asked after a few minutes. Rose shook her head, feeling useless.

“Not unless you want to risk being splinched.” Draco blanched.

“I’ll pass.”

A new chorus of screams sounded all around them when a jet of green light shot into the sky, enlarging to the shape of a giant skull with a snake slithering out of its gaping mouth. Rose stared up at it, her blood running cold in her veins. In a moment of déjà vu, she could almost see another dark mark—one cast many years ago and seen through child’s eyes over the shoulder of Severus Snape while he carried her out of the rubble of the Potter’s destroyed house. She could almost see the two twisted bodies that mark had illuminated in a sickly green—their sightless eyes staring up at it out of still, pale faces.

“Rose, Rose!” She came back to herself when Draco shook her shoulder. He was staring up at her in true concern now. It was only when her mouth closed that she realized she must have screamed too. Draco was looking at her as if she had gone mad. She was trembling all over.

“Rose! Draco! Thank Merlin.”

The pair looked up to see Narcissa running towards them—a traveling cloak had been thrown over her party dress. Her blonde hair was mussed, and her pale face was nearly white. Rose was relieved to see that her mother was not sporting the hood and cloak the group of Death Eaters had been wearing. Stretching out her hands towards them, she grabbed hold of their arms, turned on the spot, and disapparated. Leaving behind only a small popping sound and the eerie green of the Dark Mark as it illuminated the now silent field below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, what a chapter to write.  
> Much as Book 4 is really where things begin to take a dark turn for Harry, so also will Part 2 be for Rose. I promise lots of fluff and romance and smut will intersperse it, but Rose is going to have to start grappling with the reality that the family she loves is capable of doing some seriously awful stuff and that in many ways she's out from under the protection of the Malfoy wing so to speak.  
> As always your comments and kudos are appreciated, and I award everyone who has commented so far with three gold stars.


	10. Chapter 10

_Without you, I care about nothing.  
And I feel like there is only half of me.  
That stubborn cloud above my head leaves me breathless…  
Why is there no way to stop this moment when you are here with me?_

\- Krzysztof Zalewski [Miłość miłość (Love love)]

“What were you thinking! With almost the entire Ministry around! You’re lucky not to be in Azkaban!”

Rose stared down at her cup of coffee and pulled her mother’s dressing gown tighter around her body. Draco sat across from her at the kitchen table, looking just as tense while they listened to Narcissa shout at Lucius in the front room. Rose wasn’t sure she’d ever so much as heard her mother raise her voice before let alone loudly reprimand their father. Draco was looking just as unsettled by the fight as she was.

“Did you even think of our children? Did you stop to think what could have happened if they’d been caught up in all of that!?” The tirade continued. Rose sipped at her coffee and winced in distaste—she’d let it grow cold.

“I’m going to bed,” Draco said finally, sliding off his chair and hurrying from the room.

“Smythe and Dolohov are right, Narcissa,” Lucius’ voice hissed back. “The mark has been growing darker these past two months. When he returns, he will reward those who are still loyal to him and punish the ones who have gone astray.”

“And you think he will be impressed by that performance, Lucius? By how quickly you all ran from his mark?” Narcissa replied scathingly. Rose heard Lucius’ grunt of frustration and listened to his heavy footsteps as he walked away. The door to the kitchen was slammed open, and Rose looked up in alarm. Narcissa walked in, brushing angry tears from her eyes. Rose felt her insides squirm. She’d never seen her mother cry before.

“Where is your brother,” she asked in a would-be-casual tone of voice, walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a wine glass.

“He went to bed,” she said, watching Narcissa pour herself a generous glass of wine with a shaking hand—spilling a good portion of it on the counter.

“Damn,” she cursed, setting the bottle down and looking around for her wand. Rose flicked her own at it, cleaning up the mess. Narcissa smiled gratefully at her and took three large gulps of wine before walking over and joining her at the table.

“You should go to bed too, darling,” Narcissa said, reaching out and brushing her hair back from her face. She cupped Rose’s cheek and rubbed her thumb across her skin, looking worriedly at the bruise that had bloomed at the side of her mouth. Rose leaned into the warmth of her mother’s hand, taking comfort from the touch.

“I’m not tired,” she said. It was half true. Rose’s body felt achy and exhausted, but her mind was running at a hundred kilometers an hour. She didn’t think she could sleep now if she tried. Narcissa retracted her hand and took another shaky sip of wine.

“Did you see where Stefan ended up,” Rose asked. She knew he’d been drinking as well but wasn’t sure if he’d been too intoxicated to apparate.

“I think Margot took him with her,” Narcissa answered. “I’m sure he’s alright.”

Rose nodded silently. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned at this information. She had so many other questions. If Margot had taken him, did that mean he’d been in the group of Death Eaters? Had Parker? Her mind flinched away from the thought of Parker. It was too close to thoughts of another Smythe whom she wasn’t ready to think about just yet. Finally, her mind settled on one particular question. A question she had never before voiced, but after tonight could not possibly fathom the answer to.

“Mom…” Rose asked, hesitation in every letter. Narcissa looked at her with keen blue eyes, picking up on the seriousness of her tone immediately. “Why… why did you adopt me? I’m… I’m a half… a half-blood.”

Rose had listened to whispers about her blood status for years but had always blindly trusted that her parents loved her. She’d always believed with a blind arrogance that she must have some quality that made up for not being pureblood. But after tonight, she didn’t know what quality anyone could possibly possess that would make up for that in the eyes of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

“Roselin. Most of the people in that tent last night were half-bloods,” Narcissa said. Rose knew this wasn’t strictly true as there had been a good representation there of the last truly pureblood families in Britain. But even if that were the case….

“But you’re not,” she said quietly. Narcissa took another big gulp of wine.

“Rose. Your father and I love you,” she said, setting one hand on Rose’s own.

“I know that. That’s not what I asked.” Silence fell for a long moment.

“Rose… it took us… _years_ to conceive Draco—even using every magical aid we could. The pregnancy was difficult, and after he was born, the healers told me I would not be able to have another baby,” Narcissa began, looking down at the table with watery eyes. “And for a while that was enough. Lucius had his heir. I had a son…

“Oh, but Rose, how I wanted a daughter. I grew up with two sisters you know. And it would have been so wonderful for Draco to have a sibling so that he wouldn’t be alone…. And then Severus came to us. When Draco was a year old. He told us in the strictest confidence that the Potter’s daughter was being brought up in a muggle orphanage and that she was alone and needed a family. He knew how much I wanted another baby. And, of course, Lucius told him it was out of the question. But after Severus left, I kept thinking about you. I couldn’t get the thought of you out of my head. Wizarding adoptions almost never happen in Britain—when would we possibly get another chance like this? And I kept thinking about it for months and months and every time Severus would visit, I’d ask if you’d been adopted yet, but you never were…. I don’t know if you remember, but almost a year before we adopted you, I visited you on my own.”

“You did?” Rose asked in surprise. She’d had many visitors in her time at Wool’s and most of them were faceless blurs. Narcissa smiled at her, pressing fingertips to her trembling lips for a moment before continuing.

“You were so small and sweet and so very very sad. They were obviously mistreating you. I almost took you home that day, but Lucius and I both needed to sign the papers. It took me a year to convince him to let me bring you home. It was only a few months before he was as in love with you as I was. Your blood status, your heritage—it didn’t matter anymore. You were our daughter. You _are_ our daughter,” she finished with conviction.

Rose’s mind dully processed this story. She was their daughter. But after last night was that a fact that brought her pride or shame? ‘ _I’m a Malfoy_.’ It was a phrase she’d thrown around so easily many times before without really understanding the fullness of what it meant. ‘ _If you’d known them during the war—if you’d seen the things they’re capable of… you wouldn’t be so quick to call them family_ ,’ Sirius’ voice echoed in her head. She’d gotten only a small taste of that reality tonight, and it hurt to know that he was right when she’d defended them to his face so adamantly.

“I think… I think I’m going to head back to our apartment,” Rose said very quietly. “I want to see if Stefan’s safe.”

“I love you, Rose,” Narcissa called after her daughter as she left the room.

“I love you too mom,” she replied, not turning back to look at her mother. Narcissa let her face fall into her hands, and her shoulders began to shake while the tears she’d been holding back finally fell.

Rose could feel her nails biting into the palms of her hands while she walked out of the manor, hurrying across the grasses in the brightening light of dawn to get outside of the wards so that she could apparate. It was news to her that Severus had gone to her parents almost as soon as Dumbledore had placed her in the orphanage. She’d thought it had taken him two years to work up the courage to defy Dumbledore’s orders and tell them in the first place. In her mind she’d always pictured them immediately rushing with open arms to save the poor, scared, abused little girl and give her a home. ‘ _Two years_ ,’ she thought. ‘ _It took them two years to move past my blood status and decide to adopt me_.’ Two years while she’d languished in that shithole of a place. For two years they’d been just as aware and just as unwilling as Dumbledore had been to help her. It felt like the deepest and bitterest of betrayals.

Turning on the spot she thought briefly about how all she wanted was a hot shower and to go to bed before she vanished from the English countryside. Rose stumbled a bit upon her arrival outside of their apartment. Her hopes for a quick shower and long sleep were immediately dashed by the figure of a man pacing agitatedly outside of her door—a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ clutched in his hand. ‘ _I can’t do this right now,_ ’ she thought to herself bitterly, considering turning on the spot once again and disappearing before he could see her. But before she could make up her mind, he’d turned and spotted her. He froze when he saw her, eyes traveling down and up her body, taking in her skinned knee, her torn dress beneath the dressing gown, and the blackening bruise on her face.

“Thank Merlin,” he breathed and took two long strides before engulfing her in his arms. Rose closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar earthy smells of him. Her throat felt suddenly full and sticky, and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. ‘ _Don’t you cry_ ,’ she told herself. ‘ _Don’t you dare cry in front of him again._ ’

“What are you doing here, Remus,” she asked instead, and he released her and stepped back quickly. Rose cursed herself internally at how flat her voice had sounded. She was just too tired for pleasant conversation.

“The attack was in the _Prophet_ this morning. I knew you were there. I was…” The words ‘ _I was worried about you_ ,’ died on his lips, but Rose could see them reflected in his blue eyes. Stepping past him, Rose unlocked the door and stepped inside. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Are you coming,” she asked. She saw the hesitation in his face and rolled her eyes. “Remus, I’m exhausted. I want to change out of this stupid fucking dress, I’m not going to try anything.”

“I can leave if you’d prefer,” he said, running a hand through his hair, his eyes flicking to the elevator.

“I wouldn’t,” Rose said very quietly. He looked up at her in surprise, but Rose didn’t meet his gaze. If he was just going to leave, she didn’t want to look at him any longer than necessary. Suddenly he was by her side, his hand brushing over hers on the doorknob. Rose looked up at him, and his blue eyes were looking at her with a warmth and tenderness she’d missed so much.

“Alright then,” he said simply. Rose blinked rapidly, looking away from him to hide her face. She heard him close the door behind him as he walked in.

“I need to send an owl,” she told him, walking over to Morgan who hooted at her in greeting. “Make yourself at home.”

She quickly scribbled out a note to Damien telling him that they were both alright but that Stefan was with his parents and she’d send another owl as soon as he returned. It was still quite early, so she was hoping to catch him before he read the paper and was over here panicking as well. The second note to the Weasleys took a bit longer to think through. There was so much she wanted to say and couldn’t think how to express in a letter. She supposed she couldn’t write ‘ _I’m sorry my family might have killed your family last night._ ’ Despite everything, her lips tugged back in a rueful smirk at this dark humor. Instead, she settled for simply asking if Harry was alright—not that she really thought he’d want anything to do with her after this.

“Do you want tea,” Remus called from the kitchen while she let Morgan out through the window.

“Tea would be wonderful,” she said honestly. “Do you mind if I get changed?”

“Not at all,” he answered.

Rose moved into her room, dropping her mother’s dressing gown on her bed and pealing off the sweat stained silver dress. The memory of Cyrus Smythe groping her through its loose fabric flashed through her mind, and Rose threw the dress forcefully into the garbage. She brushed out her hair that had frizzed and tangled quite badly from all the running and dabbed ointment onto the bruise on her face, watching as it began to fade to a sickly yellow-green color rather than a dark violet black. Rose glanced hesitantly at her normal pajamas which consisted of Remus’ old white t-shirt and her blue cotton shorts. Should she wear something else while he was here? Finally deciding that she was too tired to care, she pulled them on and walked back out of the room.

Remus had situated himself on the couch in the living room. Two cups of tea were sitting on saucers on the coffee table sending translucent spirals of steam into the air. Though the man appeared calm, Rose noticed that his foot was tapping rapidly—the only thing giving away just how anxious he was to be in their apartment. He looked up when she sat down on the couch and then quickly looked away again. Rose didn’t miss the miniscule wince that crossed his face at what she was wearing.

“Is Harry okay,” he asked after a moment of silence.

“I just sent an owl to check, but he should be. They got out before….” Rose trailed off, picked up her tea, and took a sip. It was still too hot, and she burned her tongue, but she didn’t care.

“Remus, why did you come here,” she asked again, hazel eyes finding his blue ones. “You know… you have to suspect who was under those hoods. You knew I’d be alright.”

Rose sniffled, looked up at the ceiling, blinked rapidly again to contain the stupid stupid tears that were begging to be released, and then stared pointedly at her lap. One of Remus’ large hands reached out and closed over her hands that were clenched into fists in her lap. She didn’t look at him.

“I know that you’re a woman who cares deeply for her friends and family. I knew that you wouldn’t just stand aside if they were in danger. And I was terrified that you might have been hurt trying to help them,” he said. Rose pulled her hands out of his and tried to hide her trembling lips. How could he possibly know that when she hadn’t even known what she was going to do before it happened? She’d just reacted with no thought and no plan.

“I was a coward, Remus,” she said, and was embarrassed by the tremble in her voice. “I didn’t do anything to stop them. After I knew that Sam and Harry were safe… I just _ran_.”

Rose’s shoulders began to shake, and she could no longer keep back her tears. Feelings of deep shame and guilt washed over her. She felt him shift on the couch and didn’t resist when he pulled her into his arms. Rose buried her face in his chest and soon his shirt was soaked with her tears as she allowed herself to finally experience all of the pent-up stress, anger, and fear that had been trapped in her body over the past several hours. Remus quietly stroked her hair and his lips pressed to her temple while she emptied her body of all the emotion she had until all she felt was exhaustion.

When all the tears had fallen, she lay in his arms for a few precious moments, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat, breathing in his familiar smell, treasuring the perfect way she fit into his arms. All too soon, she felt him loosening his hold on her. He cupped her face and wiped the last of her tears away with his thumbs. Her fingers closed tenderly around his wrists—she wished he would never stop touching her. But when he began to lower his hands, she didn’t try to stop him, and their fingers slid across each other’s without closing.

“I should go,” he said again. “And you should go to bed.”

‘ _Always so quick to decide what I should and shouldn’t do_ ,’ she thought but was too tired to pick a fight with him. Instead, she nodded. She _was_ very tired.

“I’ll let myself out,” he said, standing. She nodded again and did not watch as he walked to the door. She thought he might have looked back before leaving, but Rose didn’t look up to catch his eye. Instead she headed towards her bedroom, rolled herself up in her duvet and fell into an uneasy sleep.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping when she was awoken by the loud bang of the front door slamming closed. Jumping out of bed she rushed to the door of her bedroom and then hesitated at the sound of raised voices. The quieter of the two—whose words she could not quite discern—was certainly Stefan, but the louder one whose words were coming through painfully clearly belonged to Damien.

“Don’t you dare just walk away from me like that,” he was shouting, and he sounded hurt and angry. “I asked you a question, and I’m not leaving until you answer it!”

Rose pressed her ear to the door but could not make out Stefan’s response.

“Don’t give me that. It’s a simple yes or no answer. You tell me right now, Stefan,” and Damien’s voice cracked as he spoke. “You tell me right now if you were under one of those masks.”

A ringing silence echoed throughout the apartment, and Rose jumped when the front door slammed again. Damien was gone. In the moments in which she tried to decide what to do, Rose heard Stefan cross the apartment and go into his room. Steeling her nerves, she opened her door and walked over to his. She could hear quiet weeping on the other side. Rose knocked tentatively and the weeping stopped.

“Come in,” he said tiredly, and Rose slowly opened the door. Stefan was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, his normally sleek black hair dull and disheveled. Rose walked over to him and he looked up at her. She was surprised to see a long red welt across the right side of his face. It took her a bare moment to realize where it had come from—it was the same shape and size as one of Margot's closed fans. Kneeling down, she touched his cheek in tender concern.

“Did she hit you,” Rose asked.

“She noticed that I kept my wand in my robe the whole time. She was… disappointed,” he said bitterly. Rose felt anger flare in her stomach at Margot Dolohov. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter—”

“No, it _doesn’t_ ,” he said forcefully, and his head dropped back into his hands. “It doesn’t matter, because he’s gone. He’s gone and… I don’t think he’s coming back.”

Stefan’s shoulders began to shake again, and Rose wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight while he cried.

“I’m sure he’ll come back… once he’s cooled down a little,” she said, but the words sounded empty even in her own ears. Stefan laughed bitterly and laid back in the bed, turning away from her. Hesitantly, she lay down beside him, wrapping her arms around him. She felt his hand grasp her own, clasping it tight against his chest while his body continued to shake.

“Why am I such a goddamn coward,” he whispered into the room. Rose closed her eyes and wondered the same thing about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Megs for the song lyrics and for translating them from Polish! Kudos, comments, bookmarks are always appreciated!


	11. Chapter 11

_What are days for?  
Days are where we live.   
They come, they wake us   
Time and time over.  
They are to be happy in:   
Where can we live but days?_

\- Philip Larkin [Days]

Remus carefully set another book onto the shelf, his fingers lingering on its spine. He let his eyes flicker closed for a moment, breathing in the musty scents of paper and ink—it was his favorite thing about working at Flourish and Blots. He heard the bell on the door ring as a customer came in, and he quickly stooped down to pick up another book, turning his face away so he wouldn’t be recognized. It had been a condition of his employment that he stay out of sight. They didn’t want backlash from their customers if they learned a werewolf was working there. Now that all the students had gone back to Hogwarts, there was much less of a risk of anyone recognizing him.

Picking up another book, he set it in its place and glanced out the front window of the shop. He hated himself for looking. He knew she would be there. It was Friday afternoon after all. Every Friday in September, Rose and a woman he did not know would sit at one of the patio tables of a café across the street and eat lunch and drink coffee. Based on the folders and paperwork the two had with them he assumed the pair were coworkers—the idea that they might be more always made his stomach flip sickeningly. He knew Rose well enough to know that she had picked this location for their meetings intentionally. She must have only worked half days on Fridays as she would sit at the café long after her coworker left and read from the book of poetry he’d once given her.

She was driving him crazy doing this. He was entranced by the forlorn look in her eyes when she read a particularly poignant line. The gentle tilt of her head filled him with an affection for her that nearly caused his heart to burst. And when she’d lick her fingertips to turn a page, he would imagine his own lips capturing hers, his tongue entwining with her own, his fingertips running over her body the way she ran them over the pages of the book.

Today a man with honey-blonde hair had joined the pair at their table. The man was undeniably handsome and only a few years younger than Remus. At the moment, Rose was laughing at something he’d said and twirling a strand of long red hair around her finger. Remus looked away from the window quickly and slammed another book onto the shelf. The book let out a pitiable wail at this treatment, and Remus winced, glancing around to see if his manager had noticed. He hadn’t. Remus couldn’t help the jealousy he felt even though he knew it was completely misplaced. It made no sense for him to be jealous of the people in her life when he had done his best to cut himself out of it. Yet he kept being drawn back to her, and she seemed unwilling to let him go.

Rose leaned back in her chair and glanced up at the bright blue sky. It was a beautiful autumn day with barely any clouds and only a light breeze. She, Gina, and Damien had been reviewing how their research was going but had long since lapsed into casual conversation. September had crawled by in a sluggish haze. She’d been grateful for the departure of Draco to Hogwarts. Rose had been able to make excuses to get out of visiting her parents when Narcissa sent her invitations. She hadn’t heard anything at all from her father. Rose still hadn’t decided how to respond to her family after the Quidditch World Cup. As such, she had defaulted to her tendency to avoid situations and people that made her uncomfortable.

One person she could not avoid in a similar manner was Damien.

“I’m going to head back to the lab to finish up some paperwork before I head out for the day,” Gina said, and the pair bid her farewell. Rose glanced around the alley to avoid looking at Damien. She couldn’t help still feeling awkward around him.

“How is he,” Damien asked hesitantly after Gina departed. Rose glanced at the man with raised eyebrows, but he was pushing a cherry tomato moodily around his plate and refused to look at her.

“He’s having nightmares,” Rose answered scathingly. She had practically moved into Stefan’s bedroom because of them.

“He’s always had nightmares,” Damien answered quietly.

“I thought we weren’t talking about him,” Rose said accusingly, and Damien winced. When she’d first tried to talk to him about Stefan after the World Cup, Damien had told her in no uncertain terms to drop it.

“We’re not,” he answered stiffly.

“I thought you left,” she pressed, and he finally raised his eyes to glare at her, but she didn’t look away.

“I did,” he said firmly before his gaze softened. “I… I still worry though.”

“Well next time you worry, you can ask him yourself,” Rose replied with a sneer. Damien crossed his arms and glared at her. Rose didn’t care. She was the one who’d had to see Stefan crying and walking around in an apathetic daze for the past month.

“There won’t be a next time,” he said firmly.

“You’re lying,” she said, and Damien stood up abruptly.

“Have a good weekend, Rose,” he said, turning and walking away. Rose blew a strand of hair out of her face moodily. She knew she was being hypocritical. She was currently avoiding her family for what had happened at the match, yet she was judging Damien for avoiding Stefan for the same reason. But then, Rose had to see the consequences of Damien’s actions whereas she never had to see her mother crying over another letter saying she was too busy to visit. Wincing at the thought of Narcissa crying, Rose shook her head to clear it.

Leaning back in her chair, Rose pulled out the old leatherbound poetry book and flipped randomly through its pages. Like her, Remus only worked half days on Fridays. He should be getting off soon. Tucking her hair behind one ear and stretching her legs out on another chair, Rose tried to pass the time by reading but found that she was too distracted to take much of anything in. She was skimming a few lines of a Mary Oliver poem when she heard the bell of Flourish and Blots ring. Staring determinedly at the text, she forced herself to read rather than immediately look up to check if it was him.

_There you were, and it was like spring—  
Like the first fair water with the light on it,  
Hitting the eyes,  
Why are we made the way we are made, that to love  
Is to want?_

Rose digested the words on the page slowly before slamming the book closed. _‘Damn poetry hitting a bit too close to the mark_.’ She looked up and saw Remus walking past her, determinedly not looking her way. She felt a wave of irritation shoot through her. He hadn’t said a thing to her. Not for an entire month. Not since he’d turned up on her doorstep terrified that she’d been hurt. Not since he’d held her in his arms and ran his hands through her hair and kissed her forehead. She was sick of being ignored by him. Rose stood slowly, smoothed out the robes she was wearing, and flicked her wand at the bag he carried. The strap abruptly broke and the bag fell to the ground, several books spilling out of it. She could hear him curse quietly as he stooped down to pick them up. Rose casually walked over, picked up one of the books, and offered it to him.

“Here you go,” she said, holding the book out. Remus gave her a suspicious look, and she smiled innocently. “Too bad about your bag.”

“Reparo,” he muttered, pointing his wand at the strap before stuffing the books back inside. “Stalking, destruction of property…. anything else I should be worried about?”

Rose flushed at this statement but was encouraged by the amused glint in his eyes and the humorous tone in his voice.

“I wouldn’t call it stalking…” she defended meekly, and Remus chuckled at her.

“What would you call it then?”

“…pigheadedness?”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth at that. Rolling his eyes, he began walking. Rose followed along at his side somewhat abashed but unable to keep the small smile off her face.

“How was work,” she asked conversationally. Remus glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye. He was quiet for a moment before deciding she wasn’t going to leave him alone.

“Fine,” he answered simply. “You?”

“Fine,” she parroted with a shrug. Stepping close, Rose wrapped her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. Remus stiffened abruptly and paused. He glanced around the nearly empty alley for a long moment before relaxing and allowing her to retain her spot on his arm.

“You’re impossible,” he told her.

“I know,” she answered. And then with a smile, “You like it.”

Remus opened and closed his mouth, deciding it was better not to say anything. Despite his better judgement he did like it. He missed her when she wasn’t there. It had been many lonely months and the days he’d seen her had been undeniable bright lights in the dreariness of his routine. He missed talking to her as much as he missed holding her. He missed someone looking at him not as a monster but as a man—to see in her eyes interest rather than disgust. He missed the way she could lift him from his seriousness and the boldness of her desire for him. He knew it had been a mistake to go to her the day after the World Cup, his concern and his comfort had only encouraged her. It had given her hope that he still cared for her.

He knew he should pull away and put a stop to what was happening, but the warmth of her body was intoxicating. With only two days to go before the next full moon all his senses were thrown into sharper focus. With her this close he could smell the warm molten scent of her and the underlying spiciness of her desire. It made the wolfish part of him practically howl in approval that he could elicit this reaction from her body simply by standing so near. Shaking his head, Remus bereted himself for this train of thought and tried to clear his head. But her presence and her scent refused to leave him. It was such a familiar frustrating circumstance that they were stumbling back into. One where she was pursuing him, and he was too cowardly to turn her away or to take things further.

 _‘How can you be a coward, Professor, aren’t you supposed to be a Gryffindor? I really want to know which kind of brave you’ll be.’_ The memory of her teasing voice and the warm press of her body against his seemed to call to him out of time. Urging him to meet her boldness with his own.

The pair walked in silence for another long moment before Remus let out a low growl of frustration. Rose glanced up at him in surprise when he disentangled his arm from hers and turned to her suddenly, gripping her shoulders with both of his hands. He stared into her eyes with an intensity that sent a wave of heat coursing through her body.

“Have dinner with me,” he said, and Rose gaped at him.

“Really,” she asked breathlessly. Remus gave her an amused look.

“Unless you’d rather not?”

“No! I’d love to!” She exclaimed a bit too loudly. She flushed a bright pink at her own eagerness, and he grinned. It was the mischievous, boyish grin she so loved that stripped years of care from his face. Letting his hands fall from her shoulders, he laced his fingers with her own and turned on his heel.

Rose breathed in sharply when they arrived at their destination. She had been surprised by the sudden apparition, and even though it was over the feeling of being squeezed through a tube had not quite left. She wasn’t sure if this was from the apparition or from her own nerves. Remus had already demonstrated his tendency to suddenly leap forward in intimacy and then immediately regret it and recoil emotionally. So while she was delighted by his sudden request, she still felt cautious. And she could tell he was nervous too by how hard he was holding her hand.

“It’s not much,” he said as they walked up a gravel lane towards a small two-story cottage. The house might once have been white but was now a dingy yellow. Ivy had grown up across one side of it and paint was chipping off from years of weather damage. The front garden was a bit overgrown but pretty enough and the picket fence that surrounded it was missing some boards. Rose managed not to wince at the sight. Had she not recently been to the Burrow she would have been far less prepared to see his home.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said instead, looking around the private clearing the house was situated in. They were surrounded mostly by woods and the leaves were just beginning to change colors. It had been the right thing to say, Remus smiled at her.

“You should see it in the winter with snow covering everything,” he said, plucking at the air to undo his wards.

“You’ll have to invite me back when it snows,” Rose replied, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She could sense that same nervous energy from him again, and she quickly looked away.

‘ _Don’t be greedy, don’t push too far too fast,_ ’ she berated herself. He released her hand to open the front door and she felt suddenly afraid. Afraid of driving him away again, afraid of being hurt again, afraid of hurting him.

“Coming, Rose?” he asked, shaking her out of her thoughts. His hand was extended to her again. Smiling, she took it and followed him inside.

The interior of the cottage was kept up better than the exterior had been. Though the furnishings were obviously dated and the paint faded, it felt homey and clean. Remus led her into the kitchen and dropped her hand while he began rummaging through the fridge. Rose had a suspicion he was avoiding looking at her again. She settled herself onto a barstool at the kitchen island and watched him. It always amazed her how Remus could make mundane acts seem so effortlessly sexy with his hair falling casually into his eyes, his gaze intent, his tall frame outlined in the light of the open door.

“How does chicken alfredo sound,” he asked over his shoulder.

“Sounds great,” she answered immediately, and he began to pull out ingredients. She was surprised when he began to prepare the food by hand rather than using his wand. Remus must have noticed her expression.

“I enjoy cooking,” he said simply. “My mother was a muggle. She taught me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever cooked the muggle way,” Rose said.

“Would you like to learn?”

“I don’t want to mess up what you’re doing…” she replied hesitantly.

“You won’t,” he reassured her. His voice was so tender when he said it that she couldn’t help believing him.

Rose found that pasta was simple enough to prepare, and seasoning chicken—though touching the raw meat repulsed her—was well within her capabilities. Mincing garlic, however, terrified her. The last time she’d used a knife was to prepare vegetables at Sam’s house, but none of them had required the fine mincing that the garlic did. But with Remus’ coaching she managed it while he put the chicken in the oven and began to melt butter on a large skillet.

“I wonder if Lilly would have taught me to cook,” Rose said aloud, biting her lip as soon as the words came out. Remus paused and glanced at her, giving her a soft smile.

“I’m sure they both would have. James turned into a decent cook after a few years. It was Sirius who was always hopeless with that sort of thing,” his eyes took on a faraway quality, and she knew he was reminiscing over his old friends.

“Have you heard from him… Sirius?” She asked, squishing another garlic glove with the flat of her blade like he’d shown her.

“Just once saying he was going south and that he was safe,” Remus replied. “You?”

“A couple of times,” she answered.

“Have you spoken to Harry at all since the match?” he asked after a long pause.

Rose let her hair fall into her face and shook her head slowly. All month she’d been trying to decide what to do about Harry—whether to write him or leave him alone. She was so ashamed after the World Cup and every time she put a quill to paper she couldn’t think of what to say. She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Remus looking down at her with understanding in his eyes.

“I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for what happened,” he told her, and Rose felt her stomach clench. “Write him when you’re ready.”

Rose nodded at this, grateful that he wasn’t pushing her to talk to Harry immediately. The rest of the preparations passed with less serious conversation, and Remus gave her a brief tour of the house while the chicken cooked in the oven. When they finally sat down at the small dining table together and ate both were feeling comfortable in one another’s presence.

“That was delicious,” Rose said, leaning back from her plate with a contended sigh.

“And we made it through a whole meal without fighting,” Remus pointed out. Rose laughed.

“Miraculous,” she grinned. Glancing through the window at the now setting sun, she looked back at Remus and gave him an apologetic look. “I should probably go.”

“Of course,” he answered quickly, the smile on his face dimming. “Let me walk you out.”

He didn’t offer her his hand this time, but the pair walked close to one another towards the front gate. Rose wanted more than anything to reach out and kiss him, to fold herself into his embrace. But she knew if she tried it would be a mistake.

‘ _Don’t be greedy, don’t push too far too fast,_ ’ she reminded herself again.

“Goodnight, Remus,” she said in place of a kiss.

“Goodnight, Rose,” he replied.

He had just enough time to begin to regret not asking her to stay before there was a soft pop. She was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus, will probably have spotty updates but hopefully not as long as the last one. Hope you enjoy the chapter! Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are the best!


	12. Chapter 12

_The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,  
And Wolfie said, 'May I come in?'  
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,  
'He's going to eat me up!' she cried.  
And she was absolutely right.  
He ate her up in one big bite._

\- Roald Dahl [Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf]

They had been taking samples from werewolves for two months now. At first, Rose had been startled by the stark difference between the people who came to the clinic and Remus Lupin. They were markedly dirtier and more ragged for one, and also more skittish and wolfish. She soon came to associate these characteristics with werewolves who lived in the colonies around one another rather than trying to fit in with the wizarding world. They rarely had werewolves who lived among wizards come in to donate samples. Rose assumed that this must have revolved around fears over whether or not their promise of anonymity was trustworthy. Werewolves who lived with wizards had more to lose should the promise prove false.

“Come in,” Rose called, glancing up when a man walked through the door. She recognized him from previous weeks. He had reddish-brown skin with thick black hair that was tied back messily from his face. His eyes were an almost amber color, and he would have been handsome had he not been so obviously malnourished. The man gave her a small smile as he dropped into the chair beside her and offered her his hand, used to the routine by now.

“How are you feeling,” Rose asked casually while bending to trim his fingernails. The full moon had been over a two weeks ago, but the man still looked exhausted. He gave her a cautious look. They’d never spoken to each other before.

“I’m—” he began but fell silent when the door opened. Rose looked up in surprise. Most knew by now to wait and come in one at a time.

“Sir, can you wait outside please, we aren’t quite fin—” She was cut off when the man who was sitting next to her leaped out of his chair, eyes wide with terror. Hunching his shoulders down, he quickly exited the room. Rose was startled by this sudden turn of events and found her hand straying to the wand in her pocket as she examined the newcomer.

Rose knew immediately that the man was different from the other werewolves. There was an aura, not of destitution about him, but of power and ferocity. Stepping forward, he pulled the hood of his cloak from his head, revealing a scarred face, bright yellow eyes, and long black hair streaked through with gray. He smiled at her and his sharp canines glinted malevolently.

“Can I help you,” she asked cautiously, raising her chin and maintaining eye contact with the man. His grin widened, revealing a whole row of sharp teeth.

“Heard ya were payin’ good money for scraps,” he said, and his voice was low and hoarse. Rose nodded. They were paying two galleons and a supply of Wolfsbane potion for those who gave sample. She gestured to the chair beside her, and he stepped forward and sat down, his eyes never leaving her face.

“We’re taking nail clippings, teeth scrapings, and saliva samples,” Rose said. “Is that alright with you.”

“S’fine, luv,” he answered. She handed him a couple of vials to spit into, corking them and labeling them when he did with the date and time. She took a deep calming breath when he offered her his hand. Leaning forward, she took it, trying not to notice how claw-like his nails were, and carefully began trimming them. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end when he leaned towards her and took a deep unmistakable sniff.

“You smell… tasty,” he said, and Rose swallowed in revulsion and looked into his eyes. She glared at him. He chuckled at this, and she felt his nails slide across her forearm making her flinch. “Skittish, are we?”

“I think you should leave,” she told him sternly.

“Calm yourself, luv, I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he said, leaning back in his chair and giving her an innocent smile. He offered her his hand again, and she took it hesitantly. Was she just overreacting?

She finished clipping his nails quickly and grabbed a small dental tool and another vial. He grinned broadly once again when she looked back at him, and Rose knew that the last thing she wanted to do was get anywhere near this man’s teeth. He seemed to sense her thoughts and his grin turned into a mocking leer. Glaring at him, she leaned close and carefully scraped a few of his teeth. She could not help noticing the way his breath smelled like blood.

“I know you,” he said, after she finished. “Seen ya in the paper. You’re the Malfoy’s pet Potter.”

Rose froze at this statement, her blood icy in her veins.

“Who are you,” she asked coldly, though she suspected she already knew.

“Now, now,” he chastised. “Anonymity, luv.”

Rose glared at him and he smiled right back.

“I’ll be taking that gold now,” he smirked. Rose stood and moved to her desk, pulling open a drawer and fishing out a couple of coins. Turning back, she jumped when she discovered that the man had silently closed the distance between them. He towered over her, standing nearly a head taller than Remus with shoulders just as broad. It was impossible to miss the sheer strength and power of his body. She could not help the shiver that went through her body when he ran one long tail of his other hand across her jawline and down her neck. Rose raised a hand to slap his away, but he caught her wrist in a tight grip and bent down, leering dangerously at her.

“You’ve got more guts than ole Lucius, I’ll give ya that,” he said. “Coward can hardly look me in the eye.”

“My father is not a coward,” Rose said scathingly, trying to wrench her hand from his grip, but he didn’t budge. With another feral grin, he plucked the two galleons out of her hand and pocketed them.

“I assume you won’t be wanting the Wolfsbane potion,” Rose said dryly, and the man snarled at her.

“You’re damn right,” he leered, finally releasing her. Turning towards the door, he threw a calculating glance over his shoulder. “Werewolves don’t need your help, luv. Don’t wanna scar that pretty face by sticking it where it don’ belong.”

“I’m not doing this for werewolves,” Rose snapped at him, her lips drawing back in a snarl of her own. “I’m doing this for me.”

The man paused at this, his yellow eyes running over her body as though he were seeing her again for the first time. To her surprise, a predatory smile quickly crept back over his face.

“We’re gonna get along just fine, luv. We’re gonna get along just fine.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Rose let out a shaky breath she’d been holding and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. Sinking into a chair, she realized that she was shaking. There was no doubt in her mind that she had just come face to face with Fenrir Greyback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short chapter, but I really wanted to get it in without belaboring the plot point it introduces. Think of it like a brief intermission, we'll get back to the main plot soon! Kudos, comment, bookmark as always.


	13. Chapter 13

_"Have enough courage_   
_to trust love one more time_   
_and always one more time."_

– Maya Angelou

The last of October seemed to pass by in a hundred tiny fragments.

Nights were for Stefan. It was now more the rule than the exception that she would wake up to him thrashing and moaning pitifully in the early hours of the morning. When this happened, Rose would roll over and hold him tightly until he settled back into an uneasy sleep. Some nights were worse than others, and he would wake up in sudden terror, not aware of where he was or what had caused him to be so afraid. Rose was sure that she’d heard him frantically muttering the name “Christina” on more than one occasion.

She wanted more than anything to ask him what had happened to cause him to have nightmares involving his deceased cousin more than a decade after her death. Every time she considered bringing the subject up, however, Rose chickened out. She was afraid of making Stefan feel worse than he did or make him angry with her for pushing him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to. So she stayed silent.

Days were for work. Gina and Rose were busy analyzing samples at the clinic and trying to isolate and better understand the blood curse that caused lycanthropy. Damocles Belby had helpfully sent over his own research notes on the subject allowing the pair to pick up where he’d left off. Rose had been surprised and grateful by the man’s generosity. Most people hoarded their knowledge and research in order to benefit from it—but then, Damocles had already obtained wealth, fame, and fortune for himself.

Rose had convinced Gina to let her take over collecting samples completely. It hadn’t been difficult. At this stage in their research, Gina’s background in potions and alchemy was more helpful in the lab than Rose’s focus on transfiguration. The trade in responsibilities had seemed reasonable, and although it hurt Rose’s pride a little, she knew it would keep Gina safe from Greyback. While Fenrir might be out to intimidate her, she didn’t really think he had the guts to harm her given her association with both the Malfoy and Dolohov families. The werewolf hadn’t come back into the small office that St. Mungo’s had been letting them use since the first week of October. But sometimes when she would leave, Rose could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and could swear the smell of blood lingered in the air.

Despite feeling like she was walking on eggshells at home and the anxiety of work, Rose was feeling happier than she had in months, because Friday afternoons were for Remus. Though they hadn’t repeated their dinner date at his house—Remus had not invited her back, and she hadn’t pressed him—he had now taken to joining her at the café after he got off of work. The pair would sit across from each other, share dessert, and talk about their week. Perhaps Remus had sensed the danger of meeting with Rose in a place where a bedroom was only a hallway away. With a table between them and strangers walking by, it was easy to pretend that their meetings were perfectly innocent.

“If you could do anything, what would you want to do,” Rose asked, leaning her head on her hand and staring across the table at Remus. He leaned back in his own seat, setting down the fork that he’d been eating a slice of chocolate cake with.

“I haven’t thought about that in a long time,” he said consideringly. Rose continued to watch him curiously, taking another bite of cake. Remus took a moment to enjoy the look of pleasure that crossed her face when the chocolate touched her tongue. Glancing away quickly, he refocused on her question.

“My father was an expert on dark creatures,” he began. “When I was young, he used to travel to different countries and towns, helping banish or capture them. He saved a lot of people that way. It’s how he met my mother actually. When I went to Hogwarts, I was hoping to learn enough to follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately, given my condition, it’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to pursue that dream.”

“Why is that,” Rose asked, staring at Remus with rapt attention. Remus had never talked much about his parents or childhood. She hadn’t known until their dinner together that his mother had been a muggle. She didn’t even know if his parents were still alive.

“I’ve been able to help from time to time if I’m passing through and notice the signs of a dark creature. But to do it for a living I’d need to be licensed by the Ministry, and well…” he trailed off with a helpless shrug, and Rose grimaced.

“I see. I’m sorry,” she said, regretting that she’d brought up the topic.

“It can’t be helped. It’s just the way things are,” he said automatically. It was the mantra he’d been telling himself for years. He saw the anger in her hazel eyes at this statement.

“Well, they shouldn’t be that way,” she said fiercely, and Remus loved her for it. His fingertips brushed hers briefly, and he gave her a reassuring smile. He saw her cheeks redden at his touch and at her own outburst. His stomach felt momentarily weightless, and—sensing danger—he quickly changed the topic.

“Have you decided whether to go to the party or not,” he asked, and irritation replaced the ferocity on her face.

“Not really,” she answered.

“You should go,” he said immediately.

“That’s what Stefan says too,” Rose replied, immediately regretting it. Remus glanced down, took another bite of cake, and the pair awkwardly moved past the mention of her husband.

“You’ve been saying you want to see them again, it would be the perfect time,” he continued. Rose nodded slowly. He’d made this point before. The Halloween party that Lucius and Narcissa were hosting would be a perfect chance to reconnect with them without having to spend one on one time with her parents. It would also be a very public declaration if she didn’t attend it, and Rose wasn’t interested in starting that kind of a scandal.

“You’re probably right,” she said with a sigh.

“What’s holding you back, then?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, and Remus tilted his head, looking at her with piercingly blue eyes.

“Rose… you’ve had something on your mind for a while that’s keeping you from going, what is it,” he pressed. She looked down at the cobblestones at her feet, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I’ve been thinking about going to Godric’s Hollow on Halloween…” she said slowly. Lupin’s breath caught in his throat and he stared at her. Rose lifted one hand to her mouth and anxiously chewed at one of her thumb nails. Remus reached over and pulled her hand away, entwining his fingers with hers. She jumped, clearly having been lost in thought.

“Why the sudden urge to go back,” he asked.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while actually. I haven’t been back since… well, you know,” she said, staring down at their hands. “I thought it might be time to… pay my respects…”

Remus squeezed her hand tightly and his gaze softened.

“There’s no reason you can’t do both,” he suggested gently. Rose nodded rapidly at this.

“I know you’re right,” she said. “I’m just… afraid I guess.” To Remus’ surprise, at this statement, Ross’s lips drew back an obvious show of self-disgust, and she drew her hand out of his, running it over her face tiredly.

“What’s wrong,” Remus asked in concern.

“Have you ever been so disgusted with yourself that you can’t stand it,” she said. Remus felt a throb in his chest at her words.

“Yes,” he said simply. Their eyes met, and the pair exchanged sad weary smiles.

“Would… would you come with me,” she asked in a very small voice. Remus nodded.

When Rose arrived at Godric’s Hollow on the evening of Halloween, trick or treating was already in full swing. She didn’t mind the chaos, it meant that no one was paying attention to her. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Rose began her walk through the hamlet, looking around at the quaint houses and the children running about in costumes. For a moment, Rose wondered darkly if this is what Lord Voldemort had seen the night he came to kill her family. Shaking her head to clear it of these unhelpful thoughts, Rose looked up at a war memorial in the center of the square.

The statue changed before her eyes, revealing a man with dark messy hair, and a beautiful woman, with long gently curling hair standing beside one another. In the woman’s arms was a baby boy, smiling up at the sky. Rose’s breath caught in her throat at the young girl who was clinging to the man’s leg. James Potter was resting his hand on her head affectionately. Rose stepped forward and stared at the memorial, her eyes moving slowly across the stone representations of her parent’s faces.

“You look just like them,” his voice said, a hand settling on her shoulder. Rose leaned into Remus’ side, never taking her eyes off the statue. He rubbed her back affectionately.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Remus,” Rose said, her voice thick with emotion.

“Yes, you can, Rose,” he reassured her, his hand dropping down to encase her own. Rose looked up into his clear blue eyes and nodded.

“Where too first,” he asked, and Rose began silently walking in the direction of the graveyard. Remus tried not to stare down at her while they walked.

‘ _She asked you here for your support, not to be a pervert,_ ’ he reminded himself sternly. Rose had warned him that she’d be showing up in costume as she’d be going straight to the Halloween party afterwards. What he hadn’t expected was for her to show up dressed as Little Red Riding Hood—Remus sensed that Sam might have been behind the costume suggestion.

With the long red cape draped over her shoulders, Remus hadn’t been able to see the full effect of the outfit from behind. Now that he could see her head on, he found it difficult to look away. The off the shoulder peasant’s blouse she wore was cinched tight around her waist by a black corset. The short checkered skirt she wore showed off her toned legs—the black pumps making them seem even longer than usual.

“Your, ah… your outfit looks nice,” Remus said casually.

“Think so?” Rose looked up at him from beneath dark lashes and gave him a positively wolfish grin. Remus swallowed hard.

The mood between them sobered once again as they stepped into the graveyard. Rose let Remus guide her to the right headstones—he’d been here plenty of times before. Remus was surprised to find that despite the melancholy he felt upon seeing his friends graves, there was also a deep sense of peace he’d never experienced here before. The comfort of not being alone—of another hand holding his.

For her part, Rose stared down at the names on the headstone and felt very little. It was almost too abstract. Seeing the carved stone and the two plots of land where their bodies lay side by side meant almost nothing to her. Rose had not been there for the funeral. She saw the names but could hardly believe that the loving faces she remembered from her childhood were decaying beneath them.

“Mom, dad,” Rose began quietly, pausing when she realized she didn’t know what to say. She’d spent so many years denying her connection to James and Lily—even hating them. Part of her felt like she had no right to say anything in this moment. Swallowing thickly she said the only two words she could think of.

“Thank you….” Despite the numbness she felt, Rose was surprised to feel dampness on her cheeks. Lifting a hand, she brushed back tears—she was crying.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why—” she began to Remus, but her apology was cut off when he pulled her into his arms, their bodies pressed tightly against one another. One of his hand cupped the back of her head, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Rose wrapped both her arms around his neck and held him close while the pair cried into each other’s shoulders. After a long moment when the tears stopped, they drew apart and stared into each other’s eyes.

Rose wasn’t surprised when he leaned forward and kissed her. Something about it just seemed right in that moment. She would have been more surprised not to be kissed by him. It wasn’t a kiss that communicated lust or desire but was sweet and kind and made both of them feel less alone. Their lips lingered on one another’s and the world and all of its complexities paused for long seconds. When they finally broke apart, Rose chuckled. Remus smiled in return, brushing her cheeks of the last of her tears.

“What would they think if they could see us standing here crying like idiots,” Rose asked.

“Well…” Remus mused. “I imagine James might punch me, and I don’t even want to consider what Lily would do.”

Rose laughed, cupping his cheek affectionately with her hand.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” she said, and the pair interlaced fingers once again. He squeezed her hand in response.

“Where to next,” he asked, as they exited the tombstones.

“I think that might be all I can handle for one Halloween,” Rose said with an apologetic shrug, but Remus nodded in understanding.

“I’m glad you decided to see them, I think it would have meant a lot to Lily and James too,” Remus said. Rose nodded and glanced down at her feet.

“I wish… I wish I could have brought Harry,” Rose said quietly.

“Has he still not written back to you,” Remus asked sympathetically. Rose shook her head, biting her lip. She’d written him weeks ago after Remus had encouraged her to do it. She wasn’t particularly surprised by the silence, but it still hurt.

“It’s alright though,” she said when Remus frowned. She supposed she deserved it for the years she’d spurned him when Harry had actually wanted to get to know her.

“Give him some time, I’m sure he’ll write back,” Remus reassured her. Rose didn’t have the heart to disagree with him. The pair paused at the edge of town, Remus finally releasing her hand, and Rose tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The two looked around awkwardly for a moment.

“Enjoy your party,” he said at last.

“Thanks…” Rose said hesitantly. Remus cocked his head at her curiously.

“What are you thinking about now, Roselin,” he asked.

“Trying to decide whether it would be pressing my luck to ask for a goodbye kiss,” she grinned. Remus let out a bark of laughter, looking at her with warm eyes.

“It certainly would be,” he answered.

“Well, thought I’d ask,” she shrugged unabashedly. “Goodnight Remus.”

Turning away, she began looking around for a place to disapparate when she was stopped by a hand on her arm. Grasping the crook of her elbow, Remus spun her around, bent down, and pressed his lips to hers in a quick, sweet goodbye. When they broke away, Rose couldn’t keep the grin from her face. With a guilty churning in his stomach, Remus smiled back.

“Goodnight Rose.”

Rose was still smiling when she arrived at the outskirts of Malfoy manor. The feeling of Remus’ lips on hers had not yet faded. The trip to Godric’s Hollow had been bittersweet. But somehow with Remus there, she’d felt at peace. This feeling of peace evaporated when Rose saw two figures standing in the shadows just outside the manor’s gate. One was the unmistakable figure of Margot Dolohov, with her fan fluttering rapidly in front of her face. The other was the balding, cowering form of Peter Pettigrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comment, bookmark!


	14. Chapter 14

_I have given you the  
opportunity to  
choose so choose  
whether to die on  
my chest or on the  
pages of my poetry._

\- Nizar Qabbani

Rose’s wand was in her hand before she even had time to think what she was doing. Pettigrew seemed to shrink even as Margot stepped in front of him. The woman didn’t even draw her own wand, she just stared Rose down with her ashen eyes. Margot Dolohov was not a particularly tall woman—in fact, in her pumps, Rose towered over her—but she possessed the kind of aura that left one in no doubt as to who was the predator and who was the prey. Though she wasn’t familiar with it at the time, Rose would later come to realize that it was the aura of a murderer—a murderer who revels in what they have done and is eager to kill again.

“Run along now Peter,” Margot said softly, her eyes never straying. Rose didn’t lower her wand, but neither did she cast any spells. She watched, angrily, while Peter transformed into a rat and scurried away.

“Why was he here,” Rose asked, finally lowering her wand and trying for a tone of forced politeness.

“You needn’t worry about that, Roselin. Now be a good girl, and go inside,” she replied in a somewhat mocking tone. Rose held her gaze for a long moment, debating the consequences of pressing the woman for answers.

Very slowly, Rose nodded, pocketed her wand, and walked towards the manor. Her mind was whirling as she thought over what she had just seen. Had Peter yet made contact with the Dark Lord? Dumbledore had seemed to think that was where he was going the night he had escaped from the Hogwarts grounds. And if he had, then what was he doing back, and why was he talking to Margot? Had she intercepted him on the way to try to make contact with her father? The whole situation made her incredibly uneasy.

The sudden shift in atmosphere was shocking as she entered the manor which was so full of joviality. She tried to put on a warm smile for those who greeted her, but couldn’t help the dark mood she was in. Moving across the room to a table where Stefan, Mari, and Parker sat, Rose readily accepted the drink that was offered to her. Mari was dressed all in white and had done her makeup to cause her to look almost ghostly. Parker on the other hand wore somber and dated wizard’s robes and his makeup had been applied so that he seemed like a corpse. Rose quickly made the connection between their costumes and the story of The Three Brothers. She thought it was a bit morbid for them to dress as the second brother and his dead love, but it was Halloween after all.

“Nice costume,” Rose said to her friend, who smiled appreciatively at the compliment.

“You too. Ugh. I wish I had your legs,” Mari complained good naturedly.

“You wouldn’t if you had them, trust me,” Rose replied, glancing over at Stefan. Her husband was looking better than he had in awhile having put extra effort into his appearance. He was dressed as some sort of medieval wizard and looked rather dashing in his doublet and cape. He gave her a small smile when she looked at him.

“Your mother was asking after you,” he said, pointing across the hall. Rose nodded, quickly downed the rest of her glass, and looked over to where he was pointing. She thought she could make out two fair-haired people from across the ballroom.

‘ _Best to get this over with,_ ’ Rose thought, excusing herself. Making her way carefully through the throng of dancers, she couldn’t help smirking when she saw her father’s long emerald green robes embroidered with a silver “S” at the breast. Of course her father had dressed as Salazar Slytherin. Her mother on the other hand in her long blue gown with a dainty tiara on her head was obviously meant to pass for Rowena Ravenclaw.

‘ _Well, they couldn’t both be Slytherin_ ,’ Rose mused.

Narcissa’s eyes went misty when she saw her daughter, and the pair embraced. Glancing up at her father, she saw his jaw clench, and he gave her a firm nod. Rose nodded back, and she knew all was well between them. It took a moment for Lucius to look over her costume before he raised his eyes at her curiously.

“What are you dressed as, Roselin,” he asked. Rose flushed and opened her mouth.

“I believe it’s Little Red Riding Hood,” a voice across from her said. Rose’s veins felt icy at the familiar tone; she hadn’t noticed that Cyrus Smythe was part of their group, being so focused on her parents. Glancing in his direction, he smiled at her, revealing fanged canines—Cyrus had come dressed as a vampire.

“I’m not familiar with that story,” Lucius said with a frown.

“It’s quite famous among muggles. My second wife liked to read them to our sons,” he explained and laughed when Lucius wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Come now Lucius, what would you have her come dressed as instead? A hag? A banshee? She looks much more fetching this way. Don’t you agree Severus?”

Rose’s discomfort increased tenfold immediately. She had missed Severus Snape for the same reason she had not initially noticed Cyrus and also because he was dressed in his normal dark robes that blended into the shadows with uncanny ease. It was to her complete lack of surprise that he had decided not to wear a costume tonight. If Severus made any sound in response to Cyrus, Rose did not hear it. The pair just stared at one another for a moment before Rose looked away.

“Well, what is the night for if not to dance with beautiful young ladies,” Cyrus said magnanimously, offering his hand to Rose. Not able to think of a way to get out of accepting the dance in front of her parents, Rose hesitantly allowed Cyrus to lead her onto the dance floor. Her eyes briefly met Snape’s again, and she was sure he saw the panic in her expression, but he was quickly lost from view at the press of bodies.

‘ _One dance_ ,’ Rose thought to herself, clenching her jaw as his hand wrapped low around her waist and he drew her close to his own body. Rose made it a point to look over his shoulder rather than into his face.

“Now, now, you aren’t upset with me, are you Rosie?” He asked, and she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped back immediately. She felt her cheeks flush at her sudden outburst. She didn’t want to hand him ammunition to use against her. Glancing up, she gave him a tense smile. “It was my childhood nickname.”

“My mistake,” he said genially, squeezing the hand that was laid in his own.

“I think I should go find Stefan,” Rose said, when she felt his hand on her waist straying lower.

“But our dance has only just started,” he protested when she tried to draw back. His smile became steely when she looked up at him, and Rose was reminded that this was a very powerful and influential man. She bit her lip, trying to decide between the urge to avoid offending him and the urge to slap him.

“Is this how you dance with young ladies, Smythe, or is it how you harass them,” Severus’ velvety voice interjected. The pair froze, and Cyrus’ mouth turned down in a distasteful frown. Rose realized her heart was beating very fast as she gazed into Snape’s dark eyes.

“I think you’ll find it’s considered rude to interrupt a couple in the middle of a dance,” Cyrus said coolly. “But you’ve never been one for manners, have you, traitor?”

“You’ve had too much to drink, Smythe,” Severus replied with a mocking sneer. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that was impossible to miss. Rose could feel the tension in Cyrus’ body.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed after a long silence, clearly deciding that a fight with Severus Snape was not worth the effort. “Until next time Roselin.”

Dropping her hand, he quickly made his way through the crowd of revelers and out of sight. Rose couldn’t help the shudder that ran through her body at finally being free again. Turning back, she saw that Snape was already moving away from her. Rose chased after him, catching his sleeve and yanking on it to make him stop and look at her. Turning back, he sneered at her, his lips already parted to utter some scathing remark.

“I’ve seen Peter Pettigrew,” Rose said instantly. Snape’s mouth snapped shut, and his dark eyes glanced quickly around them to see if anyone had overheard. She stumbled when he pulled her suddenly into his arms but caught her footing quickly while they moved through familiar dance steps.

“When,” he murmured simply into her ear, keeping her body tight against his so they could talk as quietly as possible.

“On my way inside, not an hour ago,” she replied, her chin on his shoulder and cheek brushing against his neck. She felt his fingers twitch on her waist—whether in response to her words or to her breath on his neck neither could say.

“What was he doing?”

“Talking to Margot Dolohov. I don’t know what about. She sent him away and told me to go inside,” Rose replied. Severus was silent for a long moment while he led her through a series of steps. Rose tried to focus on her fear rather than the way it felt to sway in time to the music with his body so close to her own.

“What does it mean,” Rose asked, desperate to break the silence.

“It means we’ve put off your occlumency lessons too long,” he said at last, and Rose stiffened at this. She had been avoiding reaching out to him all summer despite Dumbledore’s instructions. It seemed she hadn’t been the only one.

“I know how to use occlumency,” Rose protested weakly. Severus snorted derisively at this. She glared at him.

“I did not think you were one to confuse knowledge with true mastery,” he drawled.

Rose’s eyes narrowed in irritation.

“And I suppose _you_ possess this true mastery,” she snapped irritably.

Severus smirked at her.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning of this chapter was suggested ages ago back in C&C by bigsmallelephant. I feel like it describes RosexSeverus more than RosexRemus so I finally get to use it. Did you think the love triangle was gone? Mwahahaha. I just love Severus too much but also don't feel as bad being mean to him as I do being mean to Remus. Kudos, comment, bookmark!


	15. Chapter 15

_The rose is a rose,  
And was always a rose.  
But the theory now goes  
That the apple’s a rose,  
And the pear is, and so’s  
The plum, I suppose.  
The dear only knows  
What will next prove a rose.  
You, of course, are a rose –  
But were always a rose._

\- Robert Frost [The Rose Family]

Severus had insisted that they waste no time in getting started with her lessons. That was how Rose found herself back in Severus Snape’s all too familiar offices on the Saturday afternoon the day after the Halloween party. It felt strange to be back in the castle after graduating, and it felt stranger still to be in a situation where she’d be learning one on one with Snape. He was standing in front of her now, his hands clasped behind his back while he paced back and forth, obviously deep in thought. Rose sat casually in a chair in front of his desk trying not to fidget too much with the sleeve of her robe.

“Until now, you have learned only the most rudimentary aspects of occlumency: the defense of the mind from external influence,” he began, his dark eyes finding hers with a sudden intensity. “What I will be teaching you in these lessons is how to shield only certain memories and emotions; to create a false appearance of openness for one who seeks to learn your secrets.”

“You think the Dark Lord wants to meet me,” Rose asked in response. It wasn’t a great leap in deductive reasoning. Dumbledore had hinted at the possibility in June, and Rose could think of no other reason why she would need to appear open to another’s mental probing whilst maintaining secrets of her own.

“The Headmaster considers it likely,” Severus said coolly. Rose could feel cold sweat breaking out across her body. “Pettigrew’s contact with your mother-in-law supports this theory.”

“Is occlumency really what I should be learning then? Can’t… can’t the Headmaster offer me some form of protection,” Rose asked weakly, her heart beating hard against her ribcage.

“If you want to remain a prisoner here at Hogwarts,” Severus drawled sarcastically. “But even then, your safety would not be absolute. Professor Dumbledore thinks it much safer if the Dark Lord believes you are truly the empty-headed heiress who above all seeks to please her pureblood parents and forget that she ever once had the last name of Potter. I doubt such a pretense will be difficult for you.”

Rose was feeling too sick to her stomach to feel too angry about his insult. She took a slow breath, trying to steady her nerves. Severus observed her with his usual impassive gaze while she brought her emotions back under her control. To say that she was terrified would be an understatement, but she knew that fear was not going to help her now. Severus Snape was going to help her. Severus, her own wits, and complete self-control.

“What do I have to do,” she asked evenly and saw the barest flicker of approval in his gaze.

They spent the next several hours with him coaching her in constructing what amounted to a false bottom in her mind. Within the constructed space, she could place memories she didn’t want others to have access to. It was not as foolproof a method as placing memories into a pensieve, but also didn’t require access to such a powerful magical object. Severus warned her that a legilimens could still force their way through the false bottom if they realized that it was there. Over the next few weeks, she’d be learning how to maintain this space in her mind until it became second nature to her, how to place memories there, and how to camouflage its existence.

By the end of the lesson, Rose’s head was pounding, and her mind felt hazy. She clutched her forehead and closed her eyes against the lamplight of the dungeons. When she opened them again, Severus was looking at her impatiently. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her in silence for a long moment. Rose could tell that he had become even more serious than usual and waited patiently for whatever he was going to say.

“I am taking a risk in teaching you these methods, Roselin,” he said finally. “Your effort and success in learning these techniques… or lack thereof may very well impact my safety as well as yours.”

“I understand,” she said seriously. If the Dark Lord learned what Severus was teaching her, she’d be handing him ammunition to use against Snape too.

“It is paramount that you make the discipline of your mind the highest priority. While the Dark Lord remains in a weakened state, he will not be able to wield the full might of his mind against you. Let this be only a small comfort—we do not know when or by what means he may return to power,” he said. “Hiding memories is much easier than hiding deceit. As such, if you are brought before him, you must try as much as possible not to lie in his presence.”

Rose nodded again, swallowing hard.

“In addition, given our… history,” Severus continued. “We have to be sure that our memories agree. I think that the easiest way to do this would be for neither of us to conceal what happened during your sixth year.”

Rose’s face whitened at this.

“Many who pursue occlumency make the mistake of trying to conceal things that embarrass them or that others might find inappropriate. It is the first sign that a person is hiding something…” Severus trailed off, but Rose could easily finish his thought. If the Dark Lord learned of something as worth concealing as their illicit relationship, then he would be far less likely to suspect that they were hiding other memories.

“Alright,” she agreed, feeling her cheeks tinge pink at the idea of anyone else having access to memories of her time with Severus. “What about these lessons? Other people will know I’m coming to Hogwarts, I can’t just conceal them.”

“I think it best that we say you are taking private lessons from me in order to complete your potions N.E.W.T. You will, of course, have to actually take the test for it to be believable,” he answered. Rose’s nose wrinkled at the idea of taking another exam after thinking she was done with them forever but nodded in understanding. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for wizards and witches to complete N.E.W.T.s later in life, and she could easily attribute it to wanting to further her own research goals at the clinic.

“Anything else,” she asked.

“That will be enough for today,” he said dismissively. “Be sure to empty your mind every night before you sleep and focus on clearing and holding the space we created today.”

“I will,” she promised, rising from her chair. She felt a bit shaky and drained. Severus was watching her closely while she stood up as if he thought she might faint. Despite everything, she felt touched by his concern. The way his dark eyes softened when he looked at her was still enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

“You should stay for the feast,” he said, and Rose raised her eyebrows at him. “You don’t look well enough to apparate. Eat something, regain your strength. No one would find it strange—they are drawing the names of the champions tonight. Naturally you’d want to watch while you’re here.”

Rose couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face, both at his concern and at how irritated he looked because of it.

“I don’t really want to sit at the Slytherin table right now,” she answered, thinking of how rowdy the group of students would be.

“You can sit with me,” he said, and then, at her look of surprise, hurried to continue. “They will already be adding chairs for Bagman, Crouch, and the other headmasters. One more chair would not look amiss.”

Hesitantly, Rose nodded. She really wasn’t feeling well, and food sounded too good to resist. With a mental stomp on the butterflies in her stomach, Rose followed Severus up to the Great Hall. They ran into Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch at the entrance hall which wound up being fortunate. Ludo exuberantly insisted that she stay to see the champions drawn and offered her his arm. Grateful for the excuse to lean on someone, Rose took it and let him lead her up to the staff table. She winked at Draco on the way past the Slytherin table; he was looking at her in astonished disbelief. Filch was not pleased when he was told to add another chair for her, and Rose, who could have easily conjured her own seat, enjoyed watching him bring one over for her. Ludo graciously pulled out the chair for her and she gave him a winning smile as she sat down.

“Thank you so much for inviting me to stay, Mr. Bagman,” Rose said sweetly. She heard a snort of derision from her right side, and she surreptitiously kicked Severus under the table.

“Not at all, my dear,” he answered in his normal jovial manner. “The more the merrier.”

Rose was delighted to see the pinched, sour look on Severus’ face when she turned his direction to fill her plate with some roasted potatoes. She gave him a smug smirk which he returned with an irritated glare before she glanced out across the hall. It was strange to see it from this angle. There had been a few months where she’d imagined what it might be like to be a Hogwarts professor, and she had to admit that it did feel nice to be sitting behind the staff table. She felt powerful and important.

The whole dinner she managed not to look at the Gryffindor table to the far left. By the time the meal was over, Rose was glad she’d stayed. Her mind was feeling much clearer and her headache was gone. The mood of excitement and anticipation that hung over the crowd of students was also infectious, and Rose was looking forward to seeing who the Hogwarts champion would be.

Always one for the dramatics, Dumbledore stepped forward and extinguished all the lights except the flames that came out of the goblet of fire. Rose watched excitedly as the goblet’s blue flames flared a bright reddish pink and a slip of parchment erupted from its depths. She applauded along with everyone else in the hall as the names of Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, and Cedric Diggory were announced and the three filed by the staff table and into the next chamber.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called to the hall. “Well, we now have our three champions. I’m sure I can count on all of you to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on you will contribute in a very real—”

But Dumbledore’s speech was cut off as the goblet suddenly flared up again and spat a fourth piece of parchment into the air. Rose felt a sudden uneasiness fill her stomach at the shocked silence in the hall and stared while Professor Dumbledore read the name written on it.

“Harry Potter,” he said in a voice that rang across the still silent hall. Rose’s eyes flickered to where Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, staring at Dumbledore in utter shock. It was evident from the look on his face that he had no idea how his name had gotten into the goblet. She stared along with everyone else as Harry stood up and walked towards Dumbledore.

“That’s, that’s impossible,” Ludo Bagman blustered quietly on her left. “There was an age line, he can’t be a champion.”

Only when Severus flexed his hand did Rose realize that she had grabbed it where it lay on the table and was gripping it so hard that her nails were digging deep into his skin. She quickly released it and balled her hands into fists. When Harry walked past the staff table, their eyes met, and she tried to give him a reassuring look—she wasn’t sure she managed it. As soon as he disappeared into the next room, the hall erupted in a buzz of excited and scandalized whispers.

“Quiet down, quiet down,” Dumbledore called sternly. He quickly instructed professors Sprout and Flitwick to get the students back to their dormitories and he, Bagman, Crouch, Snape, and McGonagall all made their way quickly into the room with the champions. Rose sat frozen at the staff table for several long minutes, her mind whirling. It was only the loud thunking of Mad-Eye Moody limping past her that jolted her out of her reverie. She glanced up at him, shivering at his deformed face and the calculating look he was giving her before he too disappeared into the next room. She stood up and began pacing behind the staff table while the rest of the hall emptied.

Rose didn’t have to wait too long for people to begin emerging from the back room. First Crouch, then Madame Maxime and the Delacour girl walked by followed closely by Igor Karkaroff and Viktor Krum. Karkaroff glanced over at her curiously—they had met at previous parties at the manor—but seemed in too much of a hurry to want to stop and learn why she was still there. Finally, Cedric and Harry walked out of the room.

“So, we’re playing against each other again,” Cedric was saying.

“I suppose,” Harry agreed, looking lost in thought.

“So, tell me, how did you get your name in,” he asked curiously.

“I didn’t,” Harry said, startled out of his thoughts. He stopped in his tracks and looked up at Cedric. “I didn’t put it in, I was telling the truth.”

“Ah, okay,” Cedric said skeptically, continuing out of the hall. Harry looked around helplessly as if searching for someone to believe him and his eyes landed on Rose.

“I didn’t put my name in,” he said instantly while she walked over to him. His green eyes were large and confused.

“I believe you,” Rose assured him to his look of immense relief.

“I have to compete, that’s what Mr. Crouch said,” he told her.

“Everything will be alright, you’ll be brilliant.”

“Moody thinks… he reckons someone might have put my name in to try and get me killed,” Harry continued, and Rose tried to swallow but her throat was dry.

“No one’s going to let that happen,” she said firmly. Harry glanced around the hall again, obviously not very reassured by her words. She didn’t blame him; they’d felt hollow to her ears too.

“He’s coming back,” Harry said quietly.

“What? Who?”

“Sirius,” Harry whispered, and Rose tensed up. “I told him weeks ago that my scar was hurting. He thinks something bad is going to happen.”

Rose remained silent at this revelation. Given the recent events, she thought it likely that Sirius was right. The pair looked up when the door opened again, and Snape walked into the hall.

“Get to bed, Potter, before I start taking point from Gryffindor,” he sneered. Harry glared at him before turning on his heel and walking towards the stairwell. Rose gave Severus an irritated look but didn’t go so far as to start a fight.

“Who do you think put his name in,” she asked when he came to stand next to her. Severus looked down at her with impassive eyes while he considered her question.

“I don’t know,” he admitted at last and then added something Rose didn’t need his help to figure out. “But whoever it is, they didn’t do it for Potter’s health.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why it took so long for us to get to Harry's name getting pulled out of the goblet, but here we are at last! Are you excited, because I am! Kudos, comment, bookmark!


	16. Chapter 16

_You may not be her first, her last, or her only.  
She loved before she may love again.  
But if she loves you now, what else matters?  
She's not perfect—you aren't either,  
and the two of you may never be perfect together  
but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice,  
and admit to being human and making mistakes,  
hold onto her and give her the most you can…   
Smile when she makes you happy,  
let her know when she makes you mad,  
and miss her when she's not there._

\- Bob Marley

“How is Harry holding up,” Ava asked tentatively as Rose leaned against the bookcase while her friend browsed the potions section of Flourish and Blots.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected. That article Skeeter wrote didn’t do him any favors though. People already think he submitted his name for attention, idiots,” Rose answered with an irritable huff. The pair had begun to cautiously write one another, and Harry kept assuring her that he was fine. Reading between the lines of the letters she’d received from Draco, however, it seemed that Harry was getting a lot of shit from the other students at Hogwarts.

“I don’t understand how she can get away with writing about people like that. In the muggle world she’d get brought up on slander charges in a second,” Ava said, pulling a book from the shelf. Rose nodded as though she understood what her friend was saying and nonchalantly glanced around the shop.

“I saw him go in the back a couple of minutes ago,” Ava said, giving Rose a knowing look. Rose’s face colored very slightly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a forced casualness. Ava rolled her eyes.

“Are you two… seeing each other then,” she asked quietly.

“Just as friends,” Rose replied automatically, trying not to think too hard about the kisses she and Remus had shared at their last encounter on Halloween. She wasn’t really sure those had counted though. They’d been more the outpouring of mutual grief and the seeking of comfort than anything romantic. Well… perhaps not the second one, but still.

“Right…” Ava said skeptically.

“What? We can be friends,” she replied defensively. “People do it all the time.”

Ava made a noncommittal noise and went back to perusing the book in her hand. She’d been the one to invite Rose on the outing after Rose had told her that she was going to be finishing up her potions N.E.W.T. Ava had been delighted to hear it as Rose’s decision to drop potions halfway through the N.E.W.T. level had always rubbed the Ravenclaw’s perfectionism the wrong way.

“Shouldn’t you be looking for your textbooks instead of playing with your hair,” Ava asked. Rose immediately stopped fidgeting with her curls, turned around, and began locating her books, trying to ignore the giggle that came from her friend’s direction. Pulling out a copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ , Rose put it under her arm and sniffed haughtily at Ava.

“Ready?”

Ava nodded, concealing a grin behind her long fingers, and the pair made their way to the register. Rose watched over the man’s shoulder at the rain outside the shop splashing heavily against the cobblestone street. She grimaced at the sight. It had just begun to rain when Ava and Rose had walked to Diagon Alley from Damien’s clinic. Ava had been doing a consultation with him for upper body transfiguration, and the pair decided to go shopping afterwards before heading back to the Asare’s for dinner.

A figure came into view outside, and Rose watched the woman rush down the alley, hood pulled up against the rain. She stumbled over the uneven cobblestones, and Rose thought she was going to fall, but she managed to find her footing just in time. The woman hurried over to the bookstore and slid through the entrance, dripping onto the carpeted floor. Waving her wand at herself, she was quickly dry again, and pulled down her hood to reveal vividly pink hair. Nymphadora Tonks looked straight across the room at Rose and grinned.

“Wotcher,” she said in a friendly tone, walking across the store towards her. Rose stiffened a bit at her familiarity and gave the woman an uneasy smile. Ava was looking at the pink-haired woman with a mixture of confusion and obvious admiration for her bright hair.

“I tried to catch you at Angevin’s place, but they said I’d just missed you,” she said to Rose. “Do you have a second to talk… in an official capacity.”

Rose’s eyes flickered down to the auror’s robes she was wearing, and she nodded slowly.

“Sorry, Ava, this might take a minute. I can meet you at Sam’s,” Rose said to her friend whose curiosity had turned to concern.

“Are you sure? I’m happy to wait,” she said.

“I’ll be fine,” Rose reassured her.

“You got anywhere we can talk privately,” Tonks asked the cashier who pointed them towards the back of the store. Rose followed the auror through the door labeled ‘ _Staff Only’_ and folded her arms over her chest.

“What can I help you with,” Rose asked, trying not to come off sounding too guarded. She suspected what this was about and knew Tonks wasn’t going to like her answer.

“We’ve received an anonymous tipoff that Fenrir Greyback may have come to the office at St. Mungo’s where you’ve been collecting research,” Tonks said, and Rose felt her heart sinking as her suspicions were confirmed. “Greyback has been wanted by the auror’s office for decades. If there’s anything you can tell me about his whereabouts or activities, it would be very helpful.”

“Look… Nymphadora, was it?”

“Just Tonks is fine,” the auror corrected with a wrinkling of her nose.

“Tonks. I really want to help,” Rose began, running her hand through her hair. “But our research depends on our reputation for anonymity. If our clients were to learn that I gave any information on them to the ministry, we’d be finished.”

“You’d be helping a lot of people by telling me,” Tonks pressed, a look of frustration on her face. Rose had no doubt she’d received a similar response from Gina at Angevin’s labs before coming to find her personally.

“Our research will help a lot of people too,” Rose replied instantly.

“Will you at least let us station some aurors on site for your protecti—”

“ _No_ ,” Rose exclaimed a bit too forcefully. Tonks raised her eyebrows at the outburst. “I’m sorry, I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, but the Ministry can’t get involved in our research.”

The two stared at each other for a long moment, Rose with a lingering feeling of guilt, and Tonks with a look of obvious irritation on her face.

“I really am sorry,” Rose said again, and she meant it. Greyback deserved to be thrown into the deepest hell imaginable, but Rose’s hands were tied. No werewolf would ever contribute to their research again if word got out that she’d had dealings with aurors. There was just too much mistrust between werewolves and the Ministry—and for good reason.

“Just… be careful,” Tonks said at last.

“I can handle myself,” Rose said immediately.

“I’d expect nothing less from any cousin of mine,” Tonks grinned. Rose gave her a cautious smile.

“See you around then, Rose,” she said, stepping towards the door.

“Yeah, see you,” Rose replied. She let out a long breath after Tonks left before glancing around the room. “Are we going to do this now or later, Remus?”

She winced when he stepped out from behind a bookcase, his scars standing out starkly on his white face. She’d really been hoping to be wrong about him still being back here. The tension in his body was unmistakable—his fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles had turned a vivid white. His blue eyes looked her over with a mixture of concern and anger.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Greyback has been lurking around your clinic,” he asked tensely.

“No one said he was,” Rose replied instantly, her own body just as rigid as his own. She didn’t miss the flash of irritation on his face.

“Rose, I’m serious,” he said, taking a few long strides towards her so that she had to look up at him. “Greyback is dangerous.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“No,” he snapped. “I think you _think_ you know that. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

Remus made a motion with one hand as if to rub his left shoulder but stopped halfway through it. Rose caught his hand in her own and looked up at him seriously.

“You’re right,” she conceded. “I don’t get it. Not really. But what do you want me to do? I’m not in any real danger, not… not with the Malfoy and Dolohov names behind me.”

Remus winced at this statement but didn’t dispute it.

“Why not take that woman up on her offer of protection? You wouldn’t have to tell them anything and if he came snooping around you wouldn’t be there alone,” he pressed. Rose looked him straight in the eye and gave him a sad smile.

“Remus… it’s hard enough to get volunteers as it is. Can you honestly tell me you’d go anywhere there were aurors hanging around and admit to being a werewolf,” she asked pleadingly? Remus’ gaze softened but only the barest amount. “Trust me… please?”

Remus closed his eyes and leaned his forehead down until it touched her own, holding her hand to his chest tightly. He took a couple long breaths before his eyes opened again, and he stared into hers with a tired expression.

“I do trust you,” he answered. “I don’t trust Greyback.”

It was the last conversation they had for weeks. Now that November had turned the weather cold and rainy, Rose had been unable to sit outside at the café across from Flourish and Blots. If the pair were to continue seeing each other, they’d no longer be able to maintain the illusion that they were just happening to run into one another. It was an illusion she wasn’t sure Remus was ready to break just yet.

“Got a lot on your mind?”

Rose jumped and looked up at the man whose nails she was trimming. He gave her a very small smile—the effect of which was somewhat ruined by the angry red scars that had recently been added to his face. It was the same man who had run out of the room the day Greyback had visited. She wondered if he’d been the one to tip off the aurors and if the scars were courtesy of Greyback. Rose returned his smile cautiously.

“Something like that,” she admitted. “You’re looking better this month.”

It was true. Despite the scars, the man seemed more alert, his ruddy-brown skin less chalky, and his eyes less exhausted.

“The money’s been helping with food,” he said simply, and Rose felt distinct discomfort. For fifteen years now, she’d never had to want for any material comforts. But she could still remember the days at the orphanage. Of going to bed curled in on herself from hunger pangs on days she’d been denied meals because she’d made something strange happen again.

“In a few months we’re going to be asking for volunteers to stay during the week of the full moon and let us collect samples after they’ve transformed. It’s going to pay a lot better… if you’re interested,” Rose said casually, after they had finished. The man looked a bit pale at this idea, and she didn’t blame him.

“I’ll… think about it,” he said noncommittally before leaving. Rose was carefully organizing the vials she’d just filled when the door opened once again. Turning around, her jaw dropped in surprise.

“Remus? What are you doing here,” she whispered? He gave her a sheepish grin, standing awkwardly in the doorway as though not certain himself.

“I thought since you were too stubborn to let an auror keep an eye on you, that you might let a werewolf do it,” he replied, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. Rose did her best to give him an annoyed look but was sure that a smile still tugged traitorously at the side of her mouth.

“Don’t you think this might put you in danger,” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Remus shrugged.

“Then we can both be worried for each other,” he said simply as if this made everything fair. Rose snorted.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with what I’m doing… I suppose I can tolerate a lap dog,” she smirked.

“You think you’re so clever,” Remus replied sardonically, losing some of the stiffness in his shoulders.

“I am clever,” Rose said with a grin, sitting back into the chair and gesturing Remus over. “And funny.”

“Of course,” he acquiesced, walking forward and sitting next to her. Rose could immediately sense the tension in his body.

“I don’t have to take any samples from you, Remus,” she said, realizing how nervous he was. “No one will know.”

“I might as well contribute while I’m here,” he said with a shrug, trying to casually play off his unease.

“Are you sure,” she asked, giving him a piercing stare. He nodded again, forcing his body to relax.

“I’m sure,” he said.

After spitting into the first vials, she handed him, Remus watched Rose while she worked. He found it somewhat amusing to watch the normally proud young woman do such a mundane task as trim his nails. He could tell by the slight wrinkling of her nose that it wasn’t her favorite activity either. Oddly, this show of distaste on her part helped him relax more. There had been women in the past who had professed their love for him after learning of his condition when really what they felt for him was pity and a desire to take care of him. It was a reaction he had come to hate. He wanted a person to love him for who he was, not because he was a werewolf. Remus knew just how dangerous werewolves could be and disliked those who sentimentalized them just as much as those who misunderstood the condition.

He had been afraid last year when Rose became interested in lycanthropy that her feelings for him were coming from that same place of wanting to fix a broken man. But time and time again she had proved that assumption wrong. Rose rarely humored his dark moods and never pressed him to talk about lycanthropy with her or his experiences as a werewolf. She’d never even asked him for his opinion on the article she’d written on lycanthropy. He’d avoided reading it for months because he didn’t want to read some overly sentimental argument for why werewolves were really such sweet innocent misunderstood creatures. Remus had finally gotten around to reading it over the summer in the hopes that it might help him get over his lingering desire for her. But to his surprise, none of those sentiments that were so repugnant to him were a part of Rose’s argument. Her interest in studying lycanthropy seemed to spring from a genuine excitement around the challenge it presented to the field of transfiguration.

Remus could feel his cheeks warm when Rose leaned close to him to take enamel scrapings. He could smell the fresh flowery scents of her shampoo and was sorely tempted to reach out and tuck a loose curl behind her ear. The thought of her this close to so many others made his stomach roil with jealousy. This in turn brought out the feelings of guilt that so often accompanied his thoughts of her lately. Who was he to be jealous after all? Friends should not be jealous of friends.

‘ _Is that what you are_ ,’ asked a snide voice in his head. ‘ _Friends?_ ’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ he answered firmly, even as Rose leaned back in her seat and smiled at him, the dazzling warmth of it causing his breath to catch traitorously in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stumbled across this perfect quote from Bob Marley. I love these two idiots. If you have any quotes, lyrics, etc. that you think describe Rose and Remus or Rose and Severus or fit the theme of this story please leave them in a comment!


	17. Chapter 17

_dive for dreams  
or a slogan may topple you  
(trees are their roots  
and wind is wind)_

_trust your heart  
if the seas catch fire  
(and live by love  
though the stars walk backward)_

_-_ E. E. Cummings

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rose said a bit more loudly than she’d intended to. Damien gave her a sidelong glance; his own face having gone a bit pale as well.

“They’re facing dragons?!” Rose rounded on both Charlie Weasley and Ludo Bagman who were standing with the small group from Angevin’s labs. Charlie ran his hand through his red hair abashedly, but Ludo’s boyish smile hardly twitched.

“Going to make for a thrilling event,” Ludo grinned, and Rose considered hexing him. But Ludo, like most of the wizarding world, didn’t know that Rose was Harry’s older sister and thus didn’t understand the true nature of her exclamation.

“I’ve got all of my dragon keepers on hand in case things get out of hand,” Charlie, who did know of their relationship, assured her.

Taking a deep breath, she settled down and listened to the instructions for what they would be transfiguring. Led by Damien, the group began to change the empty meadow into a large tournament ring full of rocky terrain as well as a large champions tent on the edge of the forest, out of view of the stadium. With so many of them working on it together, the work took just over an hour. By the time they were done, spectators had already begun to arrive—witches and wizards from Hogsmeade and parents of Hogwarts students who had managed to purchase tickets were arriving.

“There you are, Rose,” Stefan leaned in and kissed her cheek. Rose leaned into his now familiar greeting, taking comfort in his calming presence. She had felt increasingly agitated since learning that Harry—a fourteen-year-old boy—would have to get past a dragon. Stefan noticed her mood immediately.

“Are you alright,” he asked, looking into her eyes steadily with his own grey-green ones.

“Yeah… feeling a bit nauseous,” Rose said with a small smile.

“He’ll be fine,” Stefan reassured her. “He’s a Gryffindor. This task was practically made for him.”

Rose nodded along with Stefan’s words.

“Should we go find our seats,” he asked, offering his arm. Glancing around at the inflowing crowd, Rose caught sight of Professor McGonagall leading Harry and Cedric down from the castle and towards the champion’s tent. Carefully, she slipped her wand out of her pocket and into Stefan’s. He glanced at her curiously.

“I’ll meet you up there,” she said, slipping quickly away from the crowd and towards the tent. As soon as she had gone far enough around the stadium to be out of sight, Rose transformed into a fox and dashed across the grounds towards the tent. There were four people milling around outside of it, some pacing back and forth, others sitting on the grass. Rose circled around to the forest and crept along the tree line.

Harry was staring at the trees as though lost in thought, and it didn’t take him long to see her. She watched him tilt his head curiously, squinting as though trying to decide he was really seeing what he was seeing. Rose gestured with her nose towards the far end of the tent where he would be out of sight of the other champions. Hesitantly, Harry stood up and tried to casually begin pacing towards the location. The other champions seemed much too wrapped up in their own anxieties to care what he was doing.

“Is that you, Rose,” he asked quietly once they were both out of view. Rose answered his question by transforming back into her normal appearance.

“Your first task is to get past a dragon,” Rose said quickly, knowing they didn’t have much time together.

“I know.”

“You—what?”

“Hagrid told me,” Harry answered.

“Oh…,” Rose said simply, biting her lip. Harry’s bright green eyes had softened, and she could tell that the fact that she’d told him even though he already knew still meant a lot.

“Hermione and I came up with a plan,” he said. “I think it’ll work.”

The two siblings stared at each other for a moment before Rose impulsively reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Harry’s hands dug into the fabric of her robes, and she realized that he was shivering very slightly.

“It will. You’re going to do great. You’ve got more daring and nerve than anyone at Hogwarts,” Rose said while they clung to one another. Rose only released him when she heard the stirrings of noise from the other side of the tent.

“I think Bagman’s coming, I should go,” Rose said. Harry’s face was nearly white, and she was struck suddenly by how young and how small he seemed. “See you after.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “See you.”

Rose watched him walk back around the tent, listening to her own heart pounding rapidly against her ribcage. Once she heard Ludo Bagman calling for the champions to gather in the tent, Rose snapped out of her cloud of anxiety and transformed back into a fox and began scampering away towards the stadium. She was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice the man she passed until he reached down and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, lifting her into the air so they were face to face. Severus Snape’s black eyes met her hazel vulpine ones.

“Cheating, are we, Roselin,” he asked dryly. Rose squirmed in his grip, but he didn’t release her. She glared at him, and he sneered at her.

Transforming back was a mistake for two reasons. The first was that Severus had been holding her quite close to his face and, as such, in her human body, Rose found herself nearly pressed against him. Only the barest millimeters of air separated the two. The second reason—though no fault of hers—was that Severus did not let go as she had expected. Because of this, his hand was wound tightly into her hair at the base of her skull, pulling her head back so that she could only stare up at him. Her neck and back were arched almost wantonly from the way he was holding her.

For a moment time seemed to pause while the pair stared at each other. Rose did not miss the flash of hunger in his dark eyes, nor, to her own self-disgust, could she ignore the sudden heat pooling between her thighs. Severus suddenly released her and took a quick step back as if she had burned him. Rose could feel the blush rising to her face, and the pair looked away from one another.

“I was just wishing him luck,” Rose said finally, still refusing to look at the man.

“Potter’s dealt with worse than dragons,” Snape said. His tone was mocking, but Rose was surprised by the comfort they offered. She glanced at him in surprise, but he was adamantly observing a hawk circling in the distance.

“I should go before my seat gets taken,” Rose said quickly, walking off before he had a chance to do anything else.

‘ _What was that_ ,’ she asked herself angrily, making her way to her seat. She clapped her hands to her still red cheeks a couple of times, trying to snap herself out of her embarrassment. Why was it that Severus could still affect her so strongly more than a year after things had ended between them?

Sliding into the seat beside Stefan, it took Rose a moment to notice that the person on her other side was Damien. She wondered how long they’d been sitting there in silence and had to laugh at whatever twisted deity had assigned them those seats. The pair were both looking as awkward as she imagined Severus and herself had only moments ago. Rose glanced between the two of them and gave a loud irritable sigh. Both looked at her and glared.

“Sorry,” she said insincerely, putting her hands up in the air in a defensive gesture. Stefan looked back down at the stadium, but Damien held her gaze with a salty expression.

“Drop it,” he warned. Rose didn’t.

“This is just stupid, one of the three of us should be happy,” she replied irritably.

“Nothing’s stopping you,” he replied bitingly. She opened her mouth to return the jab.

“Rose,” Stefan cut her off in a warning tone, not taking his eyes off the stadium where Cedric Diggory was emerging from a tunnel. Soon they were all too wrapped up in the tournament to continue bickering.

‘ _Harry would be going last_ ,’ Rose thought bitterly, her anxiety mounting with each champion’s appearance and each close shave and subsequent injury. When they brought out the Hungarian Horntail for Harry to face, Rose was seething. Couldn’t they have at least picked four of the same type of dragon? This one was markedly larger and more vicious than the other three. When Harry walked out of the tunnel and waved his wand in the air, saying a spell they couldn’t here, Rose was sure she was going to break Stefan’s hand from gripping it so hard.

As soon as he leapt onto his firebolt, however, Rose’s anxiety began to dissipate. She saw how much calmer and more confident being in the air had made him. Rose could relate to the feeling of power and reckless daring that being on a broomstick could bring. As she watched him dodge a bout of flames from the Horntail, she too began to relax. She’d seen Harry fly for three years and knew just how good he was. It wasn’t long before Harry had swooped in and plucked the golden egg from the nest. Rose sank against Stefan’s shoulder in relief, applauding loudly with everyone else.

“How touching,” Severus drawled, and Rose’s surroundings suddenly snapped back into focus. She was panting heavily in the chill darkness of his office. She’d once again been unsuccessful at hiding her secret mind space from his searching. Rose was only grateful that the memory he’d seen when he’d broken into it had been so innocuous—a scene from the first task that had occurred the week before. It was the fifth or sixth time he’d broken through her defenses. Glancing up at him from beneath dark lashes, she tried not to look too resentful.

“What am I doing wrong,” she asked. His lips curled back into a sneer as if to say: ‘ _what didn’t you do wrong?'_ Fortunately, the words that came out of his mouth were not quite so damning.

“You’re hiding memories with strong emotions behind bland everyday experiences. The emotions of the hidden memories… bleed through,” he said, obviously trying to think how best to describe the experience of legilimency. “Until you have better mental control, you need to camouflage it behind memories with similarly strong emotions.”

Rose rubbed her temples with her fingers.

“What memories do you hide yours behind,” she asked. Severus crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at her irritably, looking pointedly away from her. Rose stared expectantly for a moment before comprehension dawned, and her mouth opened in an ' _oh'_ of understanding.

“I see,” she said, her stomach squirming before the absurdity of the situation hit her and she began to chuckle.

Snape gave her a look that—had she still been one of his students, would have made her fall into immediate silence. Instead, it just made her start laughing harder. Rose put her face in her hands and dissolved into a fit of silent giggles, trying to muffle the noise she was making.

“Are you finished,” he snapped. Glancing up at him, she managed to stop.

“I’m flattered,” she said with a cheeky grin.

“Don’t be,” he snarled menacingly. Rose’s lips twitched in continued amusement at his temper. She knew she was going to pay for annoying him when they got around to practicing again, but for now it was worth it.

“You know the more memories you make with Potter, the harder it’s going to be to hide,” Severus observed, changing the subject. This sobered Rose up instantly.

“What are you telling me to do, Severus? Ignore him? Cut off ties with my brother?” The words ‘ _we’ve only just started getting to know each other_ ’ echoed around in her mind. Her hazel eyes had turned steely, but he didn’t flinch or look away.

“The closer the Dark Lord thinks you are to that boy, the more danger you will be in. He will look for ways to manipulate Potter using you,” Severus said warningly.

Rose sat in stony silence considering his statement. He wasn’t wrong. If the Dark Lord thought that she and Harry were indifferent or even hostile towards each other, he likely wouldn’t see any usefulness in their relationship. Did this mean she needed to keep the boy at more of a distance? But surely Harry needed all the help and support he could get right now. And what would Remus or Sirius think of her if she suddenly turned cold towards her brother with no way of explaining why?

“You’ve become too trusting over the past year,” Severus continued chiding her. “You need to be more selective about who you are letting in on your secrets.”

She knew he wasn’t just talking about connecting with Harry. Mariko, Sam, Ava, Stefan… even Remus—all of them knew more than was wise concerning her relationships, plans, and desires. Mariko and Stefan in particular were dangerous to have in her confidence given the likelihood that they would come into contact with the Dark Lord should he return to power. Rose gave a grunt of frustration and let her head fall back into her hands. Letting more and more people into her life and allowing her guard to relax had been such a freeing experience. What price was she going to pay for this fleeting freedom?

“Damn,” she growled into her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comment, bookmark!


	18. Chapter 18

_Travel and tell no one,  
live a true love story  
and tell no one,  
live happily  
and tell no one,  
people ruin  
beautiful things._

\- Khalil Gibran

Rose had once heard the muggle saying that bad things always come in threes. Given her background in arithmancy, she’d always been skeptical of the veracity of this saying, and the last few months of her life seemed evidence enough to disprove it—not only had far more than three bad things happened, but they didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. Rose was reminded of this when she and Stefan were jolted awake early one December morning by the door to their apartment slamming open. Blinking hazily, she fumbled for her wand on the nightstand but hadn’t managed to retrieve it before the door to their bedroom had been given a similar treatment.

“Mother?” Stefan questioned, sitting up in bed, the comforter sliding down his bare chest. Margot Dolohov was looking the least put together that Rose had ever seen her. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and a dressing gown covered her silk pajamas. She gave the two of them a sharp look before turning and walking into the next room.

“What the hell?” Rose mouthed to Stefan who shrugged at her, both of them climbing out of bed. Stefan took a moment to pull on pajama pants over his boxers while Rose, who was already wearing her usual shorts and t-shirt, went into the next room to find Margot rifling through the drawers and closet.

“Can I help you find something,” Rose asked, her voice carefully neutral. Margot shot her an irritated glare.

“Why do you have clothes in here,” she snapped, pulling out a handful of tank tops.

“We don’t have guests very often, it’s extra storage space. I have clothes in there too,” Rose gestured over her shoulder at the bedroom. She could feel how icy her insides had gone.

“Mother, what are you doing,” Stefan asked, leaning against the doorframe of the guest room. “It’s six o’clock in the morning.”

Margot glared at her son, reaching into her dressing gown and pulling out a folded-up newspaper. Flipping it open, she handed it to Stefan who scanned the article curiously. His gaze became stony as he read, and when he’d finished, he glanced up at Margot with an exasperated look.

“Rose, why don’t you go put on some coffee while I talk to my mother,” he suggested, his eyes not leaving his mother’s. Rose felt a bit irritated at the dismissal—her curiosity peeked—but nodded and left for the kitchen. He offered her the newspaper on the way out, and she quickly grabbed it from him. She was not particularly surprised to see Fabian in the kitchen but was pleased to see that he’d already taken the initiative to make coffee. Rose grabbed a cup and sat a seat away from him at the kitchen island.

“Good morning,” he said with a genial smile. Fabian always had the uncanny ability to appear good-natured even when he was saying horrible things. Today there was a tension around the corners of his mouth that she couldn't help but notice.

“Morning,” Rose answered, spreading the newspaper out in front of her. It didn’t take long for her to find the article that had been responsible for sending Margot into a rage: _The Lost Potter._ Rose winced at the title, Rita Skeeter had obviously caught up on last year’s gossip at Hogwarts and learned that the Malfoy’s adopted daughter was in fact the eldest child of James and Lily.

“My parents already told you both that I’m related to the Potters,” Rose said to Fabian. “Why—”

“Keep reading,” he suggested, sipping at his own coffee.

Rose turned back to the print and quickly began to skim the article.

‘ _In my time at Hogwarts these past months, this reporter has discovered the heretofore secret connection between Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, and Rose Malfoy—newly Dolohov. It will come as a shock to my readers that the Malfoy’s eldest daughter was in fact born Roselin Euphemia Potter—Harry Potter’s older sister! The elder Potter, whom many believed to have died along with her parents on the night You-Know-Who fell from power, was instead sent to live in a muggle orphanage by none other than Albus Dumbledore. Our heroine was fortunately rescued from such a tragic fate by none other than Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy—well-known and respected members of wizarding society…_

Rose frowned, wondering if Skeeter had been talking to Hagrid, before skimming lower.

_Her classmates tell me of a tragically estranged and tense relationship between the two siblings when they met again for the first time at Hogwarts. Whether due to the well-known rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, or due to Harry’s brash desire to go-it-alone, we can only speculate…_

Rose rolled her eyes and continued reading.

_The revelation of Rose’s heritage as a Potter casts her recent marriage to Stefan Dolohov in a new more sinister light. It cannot be overlooked that Stefan’s uncle, Antonin Dolohov, is infamous for his support of You-Know-Who and was imprisoned for the torture and murder of countless muggles. It is a shocking twist that Harry’s elder sister would marry into a family with such close ties to the wizard who killed her parents. One can only speculate how this marriage came about and just how safe the eldest Potter is._

Swallowing uncomfortably, Rose continued reading, still not sure what in the article would lead Margot to break into their apartment so early in the morning.

_Did the Dolohov’s make Rose an offer she couldn’t refuse? This reporter can’t help but wonder to what dark lengths they went to. Adding to this story of intrigue, many of her classmates believe that Rose found love while at Hogwarts. They recall numerous nights where she would return to her dormitory in the early morning hours—or sometimes not at all. They also tell me how heartbroken Rose was at the end of term these past two years. Was she, perhaps, thrown into despair at the thought of not seeing her mysterious lover over the summer holidays? And why was she so sad only weeks before her wedding this past June? Who was this mysterious boy who had such a strong hold over our heroine’s heart, and what happened to him after graduation?_

Rose’s lips curled in irritation at Skeeter’s drawn-out speculation on her love life. The article continued for several more paragraphs along the same theme and continued questioning the authenticity of her marriage to Stefan. Taking a breath, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. There was nothing damning in the article—only speculation and hearsay. But it was obviously enough to aggravate her mother-in-law's already paranoid nature. She glanced up when Margot and Stefan walked back into the kitchen. Her face was still pinched and angry, but she no longer seemed as suspicious.

“We’re leaving,” she told Fabian flatly, who immediately stood to follow his wife.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Stefan’s calm face creased in worry.

“We were very lucky,” he said, running a hand over his face. Rose could tell he was imagining what would have happened if he and Damien had still been seeing each other and Margot had discovered their arrangement.

“What did you say to her,” Rose asked.

“That she was being paranoid, that it was silly to listen to anything that Skeeter woman wrote, that you were out of bed late at night because you were a prefect,” he said, moving to the kitchen and sliding a cup of coffee towards himself. He didn’t normally drink coffee but looked particularly tired this morning.

“Why does your mother care what I did at Hogwarts,” Rose pressed.

“It’s not about what you did at Hogwarts, it’s whether it stopped at Hogwarts,” he said carefully. “She’s quite determined that our marriage not be a sham. My mother has waited more than a decade longer than she thought she’d need to for me to produce an heir. Don’t let my father fool you either, he might not seem as bothered, but he’s just as determined as she is that the Dolohov name continue.”

“Stefan…” Rose began cautiously. “What happened… to Christina?”

Stefan immediately flinched.

“Where did you hear that name,” he asked, and his voice was harsh and angry. Rose was taken aback; she’d never seen him this way. His eyes were suddenly wide and guarded. He reminded her of a caged animal.

“You say it in your sleep. During your nightmares,” Rose answered, deciding not to tell him that she’d also heard about Christina from Damien. Stefan sat down heavily on a stool across from her, dropping his head into his hands. It was several minutes before he looked up at her and when he did there were tears in his eyes.

“I don’t—I can’t…” he trailed off, looking tortured. “I’ve never told anyone what happened.”

“Maybe it’s time,” Rose suggested, reaching over and taking one of his hands in her own. He was silent for several minutes before his fingers tightened around hers, and he drew a shaky breath.

“Christina… Christina was my cousin. Antonin’s daughter. We were the same age, best friends growing up. And we were engaged. It was the perfect arrangement,” he began slowly. “At least it was perfect until…”

“Until you realized you only like men,” Rose filled in his sentence for him. Damien nodded slowly.

“I met Damien at Hogwarts and fell in love. Christina knew. We told each other everything. And she… she fell in love too. With a muggle-born boy. Henry Bates. And then in our fifth year she got pregnant. I told her we could say it was mine, but she couldn’t imagine doing that to Henry. I stood by her side the day she told our parents she didn’t want to marry me. She told them she was pregnant and that she wanted to have the baby. That she loved Henry. We were such fools,” he said, covering his eyes in anguish with his free hand.

She tightened her grip on his hand, and he seemed to draw some strength from that.

“I couldn’t do anything, Rose. You have to believe me. I tried,” he said, his voice cracking. “They tortured her. My mother and uncle. They tortured her and killed her and made me watch. Henry and his family went into hiding, but it wasn’t long before they got ahold of them too. I think they were the last murders my uncle committed before the Dark Lord fell.”

Rose’s skin erupted in goosebumps, and she felt as though the air had lost all its warmth.

“The whole time, Christina never told them about Damien and me,” Stefan said, tears dropping from his grey-green eyes onto the counter. “They made it very clear that if I ever went against the family the same thing would happen to me and anyone I love.”

Rose was still thinking over this conversation hours later, sitting on the couch, staring out at the cold December sky pensively. Stefan was taking a hot shower. The sound of the water running was the only thing that broke the deathly silence of the apartment. Nothing about the revelation had been an outright shock considering what she knew of Margot and Stefan. It certainly explained many things about her husband that she’d only been able to guess at before. It also better illuminated Margot’s paranoia around Rose and Stefan’s relationship. The woman had already lost the chance for a grandchild once, she wasn’t likely to let it happen again.

Though the story had been appropriately tragic, Rose’s thoughts kept being drawn back to what Stefan had said just before heading into their room for his shower: ‘ _The sooner we start having children, the sooner she’ll leave us alone.’_ He had said it as neutrally as possible, obviously not trying to pressure her but only wanting to state a fact. Yet it had left Rose feeling cold and panicked. The idea of having a baby now, with the possibility of an encounter with the Dark Lord, terrified her. If he could manipulate her with her current relationships, how much more pliable would she be if he had an infant to threaten. And, if she was honest, the fact that she had just begun to reconnect with Remus didn't help either.

Surely a child would put him out of her reach forever and the idea made her heart feel like it was breaking all over again. But would delaying put both her and Stefan in danger? Margot wouldn’t be able to torture and kill her the way they had Christina—not with Lucius and Narcissa to answer to. But if she unearthed evidence of Rose’s relationship with Remus would he be in danger? And would it be enough to make Lucius and Narcissa desert her?

Rose drew her knees into her chest, letting her forehead fall against them.

‘ _What a fucking mess_ ,’ she thought bitterly.

She was lifted out of her dark mood by the tapping of an unfamiliar owl on the living room window. Standing up, Rose walked over and opened it, carefully detaching the letter from the owl’s leg. Unrolling the slip of parchment, she read the three words that had been written there, her heart leaping into her throat.

‘ _Dinner? It’s snowing._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the drama continues. Kudos, comment, bookmark!


	19. Chapter 19

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_   
_Admit impediments. Love is not love_   
_Which alters when it alteration finds,_   
_Or bends with the remover to remove._   
_O no! it is an ever-fixed mark_   
_That looks on tempests and is never shaken;_   
_It is the star to every wand'ring bark,_   
_Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._   
_Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_   
_Within his bending sickle's compass come;_   
_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_   
_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._   
_If this be error and upon me prov'd,_   
_I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd._

\- William Shakespeare [Sonnet 116]

Rose paced nervously back and forth across the gravel lane that would lead her to Remus’ cottage. Her heart was beating at double-time in her breast. She clutched the bottle of brandy she had brought to her chest, hoping that it might anchor her resolve. Glancing up at the cloudy sky, Rose felt small snowflakes settle on her face and begin melting against her skin warm skin. She felt lost, standing there in the gathering darkness. Would it be a mistake to go in? The consequences of continuing to meet with Remus had been plainly laid out for her that very morning. But she was feeling so sad and frustrated and lonely that the idea of going back home to a cold marriage bed and a man she had been cautioned to keep at a distance was almost unbearable. More than anything at the moment, Rose wanted to feel less alone.

It was with some surprise that she realized her feet had carried her to the picket fence. Turning at the gate, she looked around at the clearing the cottage was situated in, watching the snow accumulate on the boughs of trees. The snow was glistening from the warm light that poured out of the house, and Rose felt like she’d been plunged into a world painted in grays and whites. She heard the door behind her open and listened to the crunch of his footsteps across the snowy ground but couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” Remus asked, and the sound of his voice was so calm and inviting, Rose couldn’t help but breathe a but easier.

Rose glanced up at him, admiring the way the light caught the silver strands in his hair just like it did the snow in the branches. His blue eyes were especially warm tonight. Without thinking, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her face into his chest and breathing in the familiar earthy scents of his body. Remus stiffened momentarily, before wrapping his own arms around her and letting his chin rest against the top of her head.

“Do you want to talk about it,” he asked, and she could feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest where she laid her head.

“Not really,” she said quietly, closing her eyes when he reached up and ran a hand gently through her hair.

“You’re cold,” he said, when his fingers brushed across her cheek. “How long have you been out here?”

“Not long,” she lied.

“Let’s go inside,” he suggested, and Rose nodded, allowing herself to be led into the warmth of the cottage. He helped her out of her coat, and Rose untied her snow-covered boots, setting them in the entryway where they could dry. There was almost a strange intimacy in this action—as if there was a place for her here. Following Remus, she wondered if this was what it would have been like to come home the past few months had he let her come with him back in June.

“I brought you this,” she offered the bottle of brandy to him. “Since you made dinner.”

“Do you want me to open it now? You look like you could use a drink,” he offered, already turning to the cabinet to pull out a pair of glasses by the time she nodded.

“It smells great in here,” Rose said, enjoying the quiet and the freedom to just stare at him while he poured them drinks. He looked more relaxed today than she’d seen him in a long time, as if years of worry and care had left him. Lately, the only time they’d seen each other was the couple times a month she took samples at St. Mungo’s, and he was always on edge there. Looking up, he smiled at her compliment, his shaggy brown hair falling casually into his eyes from the movement. It made her heart lurch in her chest.

“It’s the garlic cloves. I roasted them for the pizza,” he explained.

“You made pizza,” she asked in surprise? Rose had only ever had pizza with her friends and they’d only ever ordered it in. “That sounds difficult.”

“It’s not hard, just takes practice,” he explained, offering her one of the glasses of brandy.

“Will you teach me some time,” she asked, taking a small sip of the aromatic drink. Remus leaned back against the counter and sipped his own drink, looking down at her thoughtfully. Rose thought she knew what he was thinking—that he was weighing the appropriateness of agreeing to such a request. Slowly, he nodded.

“Just let me know when,” he said. Rose tried to hide the wide smile that accompanied these words by taking another sip of her drink but wasn’t sure she managed it.

“I thought we’d eat in the living room, we can watch the snow from there,” he said, gesturing through the door.

“That sounds great,” she replied, following him into the cozy room. There was a fire in the fireplace today, and Remus had set out the pizza on the coffee table. An old record player in the corner was playing a relaxing jazzy instrumental piece that she wasn’t familiar with. A large bay window lined one wall and through it they could easily see the snow gathering on the ground and the trees outside. Though at first glance the space gave off an intentionally romantic air, Rose didn’t miss how careful he was to sit at the far end of the couch from her and did her best to give him space. As the couch had not been designed for a full three people in mind, this was easier said than done. Rose couldn’t help thinking back to the many days of sitting beside him, marking papers at Hogwarts.

While they ate, the two made easy conversation. It was only after they had finished that the awkward silence descended. Remus stared at her over the rim of his glass, distracted for a moment, by the way her red hair shone in the firelight. The corner of Rose’s full lips tugged back in a cheeky smirk, and Remus, realizing he’d been caught, quickly drained his glass and stacked their plates together.

“Would you like another drink,” he asked, flicking his wand at the plates to levitate them at his side. He felt like kicking himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Now that dinner was done, there was no reason for her to stay. Just like last time, it would be safest for them both if she left. But looking down into her hazel eyes and seeing the loneliness there, a loneliness mirrored in his own heart, he couldn’t help wanting her to stay just a bit longer.

“I’d love one,” she said with a small smile, offering the glass to him. Remus tried very hard not to let his fingertips brush her own as he took it from her and went into the kitchen.

Rose stared into the flames of the dying fire and felt the familiar coldness that had crept over her since that morning seeping back into her limbs. She wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath.

‘ _I should go,_ ’ she thought. ‘ _It would be safer for both of us if I did.’_

But when Remus walked back into the living room, a glass of brandy in each of his hands and a look of concern on his face when he saw her, all thought of leaving was put far from her mind. Setting the glasses down on the coffee table, he knelt in front of her, grasping one of her hands in his own and looking into her face searchingly. Rose couldn’t help the ache in her chest at the way his eyes flickered between her own.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it,” he asked again, tucking one of her curls behind her ear. Rose leaned her cheek against his palm, closing her eyes at the familiar touch. And for a moment, Rose was sorely tempted to tell him everything. To tell him about Stefan and the Dark Lord and Dumbledore’s warning. But Severus’ reprimand echoed around in her head—the more she revealed, the more she put herself and those she loved in danger.

“It’s nothing. I promise.” she said, opening her eyes and gazing into his own. “Can I have that drink?”

She saw his lips press together in the barest sign of irritation, but he let his hand fall from her cheek, and he passed her a glass of brandy. Sitting down beside her again, he threw one of his arms casually across the back of the couch. Rose didn’t care whether this was an invitation or not. Drawing her legs up, she shifted to lean into his chest, taking another long sip of her drink.

‘ _Don’t be greedy,_ ’ she thought to herself when she felt him stiffen once again. But Rose wanted to be greedy tonight. They sat that way for several minutes watching the snow fall and the fire glow lower in the hearth. Despite the heat of his body, the fire, and the pleasant burning of the brandy in her stomach Rose still felt cold.

“I hate the snow,” she said at last in a monotonous voice. “It always reminds me of my first winter at the orphanage.”

She was surprised when Remus set down his glass and stood up. She’d never been in such a bleak mood around him before and was wondering if he was angry with her. Instead, grasping one of her hands, he pulled her up too.

“Remus, what are you doing,” she asked, when he guided her towards the small patch of empty carpet in the room.

“If you won’t talk about it, I can at least try to distract you. If by nothing other than my terrible dancing,” he said. Lifting his arm, he spun her completely out of time to the music and pulled her back into his arms.

Rose couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She’d learned to dance with Draco at a young age and had grown up going to parties and balls where knowing the steps to a waltz or tango was a must. Not once in her life had she ever danced the way Remus was dancing with her now. One of his hands was looped lazily around her waist, the other held hers in a casual, relaxed grip much too close to their bodies to look elegant or be effective for leading her. He clearly wasn’t following any particular type of step, just shuffling his feet in time to the song, turning them both in a small circle.

“I like your dancing,” she said, looking up at him and smiling. He grinned at her, spinning her again. When he pulled her back, Rose leaned into him, warmth spreading through her body.

“You won’t say that after I’ve trodden on your feet a few times,” he joked, a boyish smirk spreading across his face.

“Why do you like the snow so much, Remus,” Rose asked while they revolved slowly on the spot.

“It reminds me of my first winter at Hogwarts,” he replied. “It’s the first Christmas I remember having friends.”

Rose didn’t know what to say to this, so she just squeezed his hand, but the affectionate look he gave her when she glanced up at him told her that it was enough. She let her head settle against his shoulder, enjoying the closeness of his body and the heat he gave off. She felt as if his large hand at the small of her back was searing her even through the sweater she wore. Shifting her hand to his shoulder, he let his hand slide down to join the other one at her waist. Rose’s breath caught in her throat as their bodies came into fuller contact with one another. Her entire body felt hyperaware of each sensation, of the beating of his heart, of the smell of his body, of the curve of his chest beneath his shirt.

“I think I could learn to like the snow,” Rose said after a while. She lifted her head enough to look up at him and was startled to find just how close they were. The dilation of his pupils and the heat in his eyes sent a jolt of electricity through her body.

“Rose,” he began, his voice huskier than she’d heard it in months, but whatever he intended to say seemed caught in his throat. Rose’s lips parted to ask what it was, only to suddenly find his lips on her own.

She couldn’t help the moan that immediately escaped her lips, her arms sliding up around his neck while his tightened their hold of her waist. This kiss was nothing like the ones they had shared in Godric’s Hollow. It was not cautious or sad, but full of desire and mutual longing. Merlin, she had missed this. The softness of his lips against hers, the scratch of his stubble, the taste of his mouth. One of his hands traveled up capture the back of her neck, the other finding the bare skin beneath her sweater. Rose felt like her knees might give out at any moment. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed to touch him, to kiss him, to be caressed by him, until this moment.

When they broke away, minutes later, it was to her severe disappointment, and she quickly tried to return her mouth to his own, but his hands on her arms stopped her.

“I’m sorry. We… we should stop,” Remus panted, and Rose couldn’t help the intense anger that flared up in her stomach at this statement. She hadn’t started this and, now that he had, he just wanted her to forget it?

“Why? Why should we?” She asked, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Please, enlighten me Remus.”

“Rose,” he said in a tone of disapproval, but she glared at him and he sighed. “Rose, you’re married.”

“Son of a bitch,” Rose cursed loudly, pulling away from him and walking towards the door. She heard him follow her and there was obvious frustration in his tone when he next spoke.

“You _are_ married. Am I supposed to just forget that?” Rose whirled around and stabbed her finger into his chest.

“You’re right. I am married. You left, and I married Stefan Dolohov just like you wanted me to—”

“ _I_ wanted?”

“Yes, _you_ wanted. You wanted me to go off and live my life without you and be happy. Well did it ever occur to you— _brilliant as you are_ —that maybe my life can’t be happy without you in it? Because I’ve tried. I really have. For _months_. I have money, I have success, I have a husband who I can be with in public, and I’m not happy, Remus. I’m fucking miserable,” she shouted, and he looked taken aback by the torrent of words that were pouring out of her. “I _love_ you. I love you with everything I am. I love you despite knowing how much easier it would be not to love you. I can’t go a day without thinking about you, wanting you, needing your smile, your voice, the sound of your heartbeat. And I know—I _know_ you love me too or you wouldn’t have asked me here.”

And she said the last part a little desperately because the idea that he might not love her—might not feel that same burning desire that she felt for him—was an idea too terrible to imagine.

“I love you, Remus Lupin,” she said, and the sentence felt almost like a prayer.

Whatever gods existed in this messed up universe she was living in must have been listening because suddenly his lips were on hers again, devouring her with a passion she’d never experienced before. She could taste the saltiness of tears in their kisses—whether his or her own, she was not sure. It wasn’t long, however, before the tears dried and desire took over.

She felt his hands slide up her sides beneath her sweater, raising goosebumps across her flesh. His fingers closed at the small of her waist, slowly guiding her backwards while they kissed. Rose was vaguely aware that they were moving down the hallway. Their progress was impeded when she was backed into the door of the bedroom, but as he took the opportunity to slide her sweater up and over her head, she didn’t really mind. She could feel just how hard her nipples had become when the cool air hit them, and she gasped into his mouth when his hands found their way to her breasts.

Reaching behind her, Rose groped for the doorhandle, shoving the door open so they could stumble into the room. The back of her legs found the bed quickly enough, and Remus pushed her back onto it, taking a moment to stare down at her in appreciation. Rose watched hungrily as he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his broad shoulders. Climbing into bed with her, he slid a hand up her stomach to cup one of her breasts, his fingers gently teasing her nipple. Rose dropped her head back when his lips sought out her neck, planting kisses across the smooth flesh he found there. She moaned when his teeth grazed her collarbone, and she pressed her chest against his, molding her body to his own. Hooking one leg around his hip, she ground herself against him, eliciting a sharp intake of breath that made her grin.

“Get these off,” he said into her ear, tugging forcefully at her pants. Rose was happy to obey, squirming out of them and kicking them onto the floor. Reaching down, she ran a hand across the front of his pants, biting her lip at the feel of him through the fabric before fumbling with his zipper. As soon as they were off, she shoved him onto his back so that she could straddle him. Rose pinned his hands over his head, grinding herself against him and sliding back and forth across his length teasingly. Remus stared up at her with dark lusty eyes.

“Enjoying yourself, pet?” He asked with a smirk on his face. Rose grinned, releasing his hands to toss her long red hair over her shoulder.

“A bit, yeah,” she teased. His smirk turned wolfish and before she had time to regain control of the situation, his hands had moved to her hips and he’d thrust up into her—filling her completely.

“Remus,” she gasped, throwing her head back in pleasure at the sudden intrusion. His fingers dug into her hipbones, guiding her as she rode him before one of his hands found its way to her clit and began rubbing slow circles there. Rose could feel just how fast she was going to come from this—it had been so long, and she had wanted this so much.

“Fuck,” she gasped as her pleasure built, running her nails over his chest. She didn’t miss the smirk that crossed his face when the word left her lips. Sitting up, he wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her onto her back, pulling one of her legs up over his shoulder while the other was pressed into the mattress.

Their lips found one another’s again but Rose couldn’t help the small mewls of pleasure that escaped her mouth every time he thrust into her. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten how perfectly their bodies fit together or the way the weight of him pressing down on her filled her body with a burning heat. She could feel him quicken his pace and knew he wasn’t going to last much longer either. With a cry of pleasure, Rose’s head dropped back into a pillow and her back arched as she came around him. Remus’ head dropped against her shoulder, and his whole body tensed up before suddenly relaxing.

For several moments, Rose was only aware of the haze of pleasure in which she found herself, the slick sweatiness of their skin, and the sound of them panting in the semi-darkness. He groaned softly when he finally pulled out of her, collapsing beside her on the mattress, his head laying on her bare breast. Rose let the fingers of one hand trail lazily through his hair while they laid there, their heartbeats slowly returning to a normal pace. Lifting one of his hands, he grasped hers and planted gentle kisses on her fingertips before propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her.

“I love you, Rose,” he said, running his thumb across her cheek and kissing her softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well you didn't have to wait 36 chapters this time! Hope it was worth it. Kudos, comment, bookmark.


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